


Haunted

by RJ99



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Family, Friendship, Jackson/OC - Freeform, M/M, OC, OC Story, derek hale has a brother
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-02-23 11:22:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 80,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23610679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RJ99/pseuds/RJ99
Summary: Oh home, sweet home.How he wished he stayed in New York.When Clark Hale returns to Beacon Hills with his older brother Derek, he finds out; a new werewolf has been turned and Laura's been murdered by an unknown Alpha terrorising the town, he can see his dead twin, and a serial killer with sophomore victims is on the loose.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	1. Prologue

Bowling wasn’t typically a sport that many fourth graders excelled at so whilst Clark and Jackson were focusing intently on their competition for first place, the rest of their friends were battling it out for third place with point totals far below that of the two competitive friends. Jackson, with a turn in hand, was nine points ahead of him so as Clark collected his ball he was determined to get a strike, or at least a spare.

  
After a quick run up and a determined bowl, Clark’s ball was headed straight down the centre of the alley. Clark was ready to start celebrating prematurely, that confident that he was about to get a strike. Within the flash of the disco lights, a dark figure of an older teenage boy appeared out of nowhere at the end of the alley, stopping the ball with his foot before it could reach the pins.

  
Another flash of the lights and the figure was suddenly right in front of Clark, using his height advantage to tower over the younger boy. One of the flashing disco lights froze on a bright white light, creating a spotlight onto the two boys and lighting up the older boy’s face for the first time; Derek.

  
“What the hell are you doing here?” The older boy growled, “You were supposed to go straight _home_ -”

  
With that word, the whole bowling alley around them descended into darkness. Jackson and the other friends had gone, replaced by the new presence of Clark’s older sister Laura. In the darkness around their maintained bright white spotlight, Clark could make out the shape of trees. Suddenly, a hot orange light eradicated the darkness and instead highlighted their burning house.

  
Loud, pained screams reached Clark’s ears and pushed him into action. Clark was through the front door of the house in a heartbeat and was greeted, not by flames, but by a graveyard. As badly burned hands emerged from the earth and began pulling bodies free from their graves Clark stumbled around to return through the door. Instead of a door, Clark was met by the sight of the graveyard expanding as far as he could see. Turning back once again, Clark stumbled backwards when he saw his ten badly scarred family members fast approaching him, led by his twin sister.

  
“You should have been there,” the ten spoke in unison as Clark backed himself up against a huge gravestone. “You could have saved us.”

  
“I-I-I,” Clark spluttered as his dry throat refused to let him speak.

  
The pack of ten continued their approach, teeth sharp, claws at the ready and eyes glowing bright. “Now there’s no one to save you,” They growled in unison before Clark was lost under a sea of bodies.

* * *

Clark awoke suddenly, sweating, screaming and thrashing in his bed. It took him a minute, during which he regained control of his movements and began to slow his panicked breathing, to register Derek’s presence beside him and the protective arm over his shoulder as he calmed himself.

  
“Nightmare?” Derek questioned, breaking the silence after giving Clark another couple of minutes to calm himself. Clark met his older brother’s concerned green eyes and gave a short nod. “You were saying her name.”

  
The fact that he was talking in his sleep was somewhat surprising for Clark considering his voice had betrayed him in his dreams. “Cora’s?” He questioned and received a nod of confirmation from Derek in response.

  
“Was it about the house?” Derek asked, the question resulting in Clark breaking their eye contact, dropping his gaze down to his bedroom floor. It was his turn, once again, to respond with a nod. “You haven’t had that nightmare for years.”

  
“I know,” Clark responded with a frustrated sigh before lifting his head up to look at Derek once more. “Have you heard from Laura?”

  
Derek’s answer was exactly what Clark was expecting as much as he was hoping otherwise, “Still nothing.”

  
“Let’s go then,” Clark said decisively, springing into action as he got out of bed and grabbed a white t-shirt from his chest of drawers.

  
“You don’t have to come, you know,” Derek pointed out.

  
“You’re not going without me,” Clark responded instantly. “We both know that Laura wouldn’t go days without contacting us if nothing was wrong. Something has happened and you’re going to need all the help you can get.”

  
“But how much help are you going to be?” Derek challenged causing Clark, who had started packing a bag of essentials, to stop in his tracks and turn to face his brother. “We had one conversation about the possibility of going back yesterday afternoon and that alone caused you to freak out. I can’t find Laura and deal with a frantic teenager at the same time.”

  
“I’m not a kid anymore, Derek. I can deal with my own shit and the best way to overcome your fears is to face them. I can’t do that from the other side of the country,” Clark argued, turning back to the bag he was packing and forcibly placing his things inside. “And we’re not going to help Laura standing here and arguing about this. So let’s get packed up, get to the airport and get on the first plane out of here.”

  
The only response Clark got was the sound of his bedroom door shutting as Derek left, appearing to finally realise that Clark wasn’t about to let him leave him behind for any reason. Clark finished off his packing by collecting his electronic devices and relevant chargers and placing them into his bag. He threw the bag over his shoulder before crossing his room to open the door, step through it and then hesitate as he looked back into the room, a wave of uncertainty hitting him as to how long it would be before they would return. And who would return. He chuckled nervously to himself. “Beacon Hills, here we come,” he muttered as he closed the door behind him.


	2. Too Late

It was late Sunday evening by the time Clark and Derek eventually made it to Beacon Hills and at one point Clark had been almost certain that they would never reach their final destination; not only did the plane look really unsafe but the journey had felt never-ending. Derek had wasted no time in getting their lack-of-a-car situation sorted out and soon enough Clark found himself staring at the house which had haunted his dreams every night when he was ten years old.

The version of the house in his nightmares was a lot more destroyed than the one in front of him. His childhood memory had created the unreliable image that the entire house was all-but burnt to the ground. The reality was that from the front, the house could almost pass off as having been abandoned and unloved for a few years. It was only as he looked towards the side of the house that he could see the true extent of the damage from the fire.

Clark turned back to the car to see Derek approaching him, both of their bags in his arms. “Whoa, hold on a minute!” Clark exclaimed, his eyes widening upon realising what Derek was planning. “We’re staying here?”

“It’s free,” Derek simply said as his dropped Clark’s bag onto the floor in front of his feet.

“Yeah. It’s also the place where the majority of our family were murdered,” Clark countered.

“Making it one of the final places anyone wanting to murder us now would expect to find us,” Derek responded without missing a beat as he dropped his own bag on the floor next to Clark’s. Clark wasn’t entirely sure he agreed with his brother’s reasoning but Derek was already venturing off towards the woods.

“Wait!” Clark called after him, leaving their bags unaccompanied as he took a few steps after his brother. “Where are you going?”

“To check the surrounding area,” Derek answered as he continued to walk away. “Make sure we don’t get any unwanted visitors or surprises.”

“I’ll come with you,” Clark decided, hurrying after him.

With that statement, Derek stopped in his tracks and rounded on Clark, “I don’t need you right now. Go face your fears.”

Clark sighed but knew that he wouldn’t be able to win that argument with Derek. He was fully aware that his older brother thought that Clark returning to his childhood home and the location where their family were murdered would be too much for him. He also knew that this belief stemmed from the fact that it had affected him on the other side of the country. As Clark turned back to the house alone, Derek long gone into the woods, he hoped he could prove his brother wrong.

Clark returned to the two bags and grabbed them, throwing his over his shoulder and carrying Derek’s in his other hand. His brown eyes fell on the door of the house and he let out a shaky breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding. “Pull it together,” he muttered to himself in frustration as he began the short walk from the car to the steps leading up to the house.

“It’s just a house,” he continued to mutter to himself as he took the steps up to the front door. As his hand reached out to push the door open, the images of walking into a graveyard that had haunted his dreams for years flashed before his eyes. “That isn’t real,” he growled to himself, pushing the door open with force to reveal the entrance of the house, complete with the staircase leading to the first floor and a lack of a creepy graveyard. “See.”

Clark took a purposeful step across the threshold, determined to prove to his mind that the house was safe; that there wasn’t a pack of half-burned zombie werewolves ready to remind him that he wasn’t there. “We’re fine,” he said decisively after pushing the door shut behind him. “And tired,” he realised as a sudden wave of exhaustion hit him. He dropped the bags on the floor right by the door and managed the few steps into what was once the living room. He fell onto the remains of a burned couch and his eyes closed within seconds, succumbing to sleep.

* * *

_“It’s just you and me now, Clark.”_

Clark knew that voice. He shot up instantly in his bed then froze, staring at the bed in confusion. He remembered falling asleep on the couch. Lifting his head up slowly, he found himself in his childhood room. The bright blue paint of the room was perfect with no signs of scorch from the fire and the toy dinosaurs which littered the rooms were also unscarred.

His eyes moved to his door which was completely open; as a child he could never sleep with it shut. It made him feel _alone._ But he wasn’t alone for in the doorway stood a girl around six years of age with long brown hair.

“Cora?” Clark questioned in surprise.

The girl didn’t appear to acknowledge her name and instead stepped into the room. Clark found himself unable to move from his sitting position on the bed as his sister continued to approach him.

_“Derek says he’s too old to play anymore so it’s just us,”_ Cora continued.

“What?” Clark asked, utterly confused as to what was going on.

_“So I’ll hide first and you count. No cheating!”_ Cora instructed before turning around and running off out of the room.

“No! Cora! Cora, wait!” Clark yelled after her and, finding his body had started to let him move again, he climbed out of the bed and ran out of the room after her.

In a stark contrast to his perfect bedroom, the rest of the house was scorched and damaged from the touch of the fire. Windows were shattered, whole walls of the house burned to the ground and wallpaper burned off those walls which did remain. The hallway that Clark stood in was longer than he remembered, stretching out to the length of two swimming pools combined. At the far end of the hallway stood a lone cupboard, an orange flame creeping through the floorboards below it.

_“You can’t find me.”_

Cora’s taunt reached Clark’s ears, coming from the cupboard at the end of the hallway. “Cora!” Clark yelled as he started sprinting down the corridor, urging his legs to go faster. “Cora! Get out of there!”

_“You have to find me first.”_

“Cora, this isn’t a game! Get out!” Clark screamed down the hall. He continued propelling himself forward as childish laughter erupted from the cupboard; teasing and taunting him. Clark gritted his teeth and ignored the noise finally getting within feet of the cupboard when suddenly the flames burst into life, enclosing the cupboard and burning through it.

Clark dropped to his knees at what had been the foot of the cupboard, pounding his fist against the floor in frustration. Low growls became noticeable behind him and Clark didn’t need to look to know that it was the rest of his family members arriving to haunt him.

_“You came back,”_ Clark recognised the voice of his mother, _“But it was too late.”_

* * *

Clark awoke with a start, gasping for air as he sat upright on the couch. He groaned, running his hands over his face in frustration. His family had haunted his dreams for a good few months after they were murdered but, with Laura’s help and counselling, Clark had managed to get past the nightly reminders that maybe, just maybe, he could have changed the events had he been there. It seemed Laura’s absence was bringing everything back.

“Another nightmare?” Derek announced his presence behind the couch and caused Clark to jump in surprise.

Clark shot into a standing position immediately and spun around so that he was facing Derek. “No!” he lied immediately and soon realised he had probably answered far too quickly making himself sound defensive. “I just… had that dream where I was falling from a waterfall. We all have those kinds of dreams, don’t we?”

Having lived with Derek for fifteen - very nearly sixteen - years, Clark believed that he was getting better at reading his older brother. Derek’s facial expression after that statement clearly read ‘I don’t believe you but can’t be bothered to argue right now’. “Get dressed,” Derek instructed instead.

Clark frowned, “Are we going somewhere? Did you hear from Laura? Or catch her scent last night?”

“Yes, no and no,” Derek responded simply yet frustratingly vaguely. The news that there was still no word, or lead, on Laura was even more frustrating. Clark needed her help and he needed it quickly because he did not want to spend any more nights being haunted by family members.

“So we’re going to look for her?” Clark pushed for further clarity from Derek as to what he was getting ready for.

“No. You’re going to school,” Derek responded and chucked a backpack in Clark’s direction as he spoke.

Clark caught the bag with two hands and glanced down at it incredulously, “You have _got_ to be kidding me.”

“You’re fifteen. Being a werewolf doesn’t get you out of school,” Derek commented as Clark dropped the bag down onto the couch.

“My school and my friends are back in New York,” Clark responded. “This isn’t supposed to be a long-term thing. We find Laura and we go back to our life on the other side of the country.” Attending Beacon Hills High School had not been his plan when they had left New York and he was fairly sure it hadn’t been Derek’s either. They had both packed lightly, not planning on sticking around for long and this new move from Derek suggested the plan had changed. Clark wanted to know why.

“We’re going to be here longer than originally planned,” Derek replied with what Clark had already deducted.

“Since when?” Clark challenged.

“Since last night,” Derek answered as he approached the couch and picked the backpack up. “There’s a lot more going on around here than we realised but for now I need you to go to school, act like a normal high schooler and keep an eye on one of your fellow students for me,” Derek instructed as he moved around the couch, stopping in front of Clark and holding out the backpack for him to take back.

Clark just stared at Derek, making no move to take the bag from him, “Why?”

“Because there’s a chance he was bitten last night,” Derek explained, “And if he was, we need to know for sure because we’re going to be here for a while and the last thing we need is a new werewolf exposing our existence to the town.”

“Are you saying Laura bit someone? Or is this another Alpha building their pack?” Clark continued to question.

Derek shook the backpack in his hand, drawing Clark’s attention back to it. “We’re going to be late,” Derek avoided the question as he shoved the bag into Clark’s chest and forced Clark to take hold of it, “Go get ready for school.” With that, Derek left the room leaving Clark with a lot more questions than answers.

* * *

Clark had been expecting to get at least one week off school out of returning to his childhood town and having to relive memories of the times when his family were huge and inescapable. Despite the size of the house they lived in, any room he went into he would be forced to talk to one family member. Things had changed since then, however, and talking to family was getting harder and harder; Laura had disappeared and Clark knew that Derek was keeping stuff from him. To make things worse, he wasn’t even getting that week off school.

Clark stepped out of the house ready for school complete with an empty black backpack. Having expected not to go to school until they returned to New York, Clark had left all his school supplies back at their apartment on the other side of the country. How much fun he was going to have explaining his lack of preparation to his new teachers.

Derek was leaning against his black Camaro, arms folded as he waited for the younger of the brothers. On his approach down towards the car, Clark hesitated a new smell reaching his nostrils which he hadn’t noticed the previous night. “Can you smell blood?” He asked Derek.

“I came across a coyote last night. Its side had been torn open,” Derek explained, pushing himself off the car and standing up straighter, his arms dropping loosely to his sides.

Clark’s eyes fell upon disturbed soil to the side of the house and he turned back to Derek with a smirk. “And you dug it a grave?” Clark laughed slightly as he continued his walk down to the car. “Maybe you do have a heart after all,” he commented jokingly, tapping his brother on the chest as he passed him to walk around to the passenger’s side of the car.

* * *

The drive to the high school had been spent entirely in silence after Derek had explained that they both had to attend an induction meeting with the principal before Clark could officially start at the school. Apparently, it was standard protocol and Derek had been told there were still spaces in the Sophomore class, allowing for a quick and smooth transfer. How pleased Clark had been to hear that.

Clark had spent the rest of the car journey wondering just how many of his new classmates were going to be old classmates of his. Having attended the local elementary school, he was sure he was going to recognise a few faces. He wasn’t sure whether he liked the idea of starting a new school with some people who already knew him. At least when they had moved to New York, he had started school with a blank slate. Some of these upcoming classmates would know all about the fire and those that didn’t sure were going to once a Hale started attending their school. Clark knew well enough how fast rumours spread in high school.

Clark wasn’t normally one to struggle with nerves but at Derek pulled into a space in the parking lot and switched off the engine, an unfamiliar wave of nerves hit Clark like a brick to his stomach. Clark did his best to ignore the feeling, grabbing his bag from the footwell and reaching for handle to open his door.

“Hey,” Derek said suddenly, sticking his arm out across Clark’s chest to stop him from moving. “That’s him there,” Derek stated, pointing, with his free hand, through the windscreen towards the front steps of the school building. Two boys, both of whom looked vaguely familiar, had stopped near the steps, deep in conversation with each other as the rest of the students flooded past them and into the school. “The one in the lighter blue shirt.”

“That’s the guy you think got bitten?” Clark checked as Derek dropped his left arm, allowing Clark to move more freely again, getting out of the car as Derek did the same on his side.

“Possibly,” Derek confirmed over the roof of the car as both brothers simultaneously closed their doors before joining one another on the sidewalk and heading towards the administration entrance. “So keep an eye on him. Befriend him if possible.”

“Firstly, you’re the last person to talk about making friends,” Clark retorted as they continued walking. “And secondly, what if he’s not in my classes? We don’t even know if he’s in the same grade.”

“Just do what you can,” Derek shrugged before they reached the door. Clark allowed Derek to open it and enter first in the same way that he was more than willing to let his brother do all the talking in the upcoming so-called ‘induction meeting’.

* * *

Following a meeting consisting of introductions, paperwork and determining his subjects and schedule which lasted half an hour, Clark found himself following his new vice principal down corridors which all looked the same.

“You’re our second new tenth grader today,” the vice principal informed him as they rounded a corner and started walking down another corridor lined with the same grey lockers. Clark wasn’t sure what he was meant to say in response to that information so he decided not to say anything. “Well, here we are!” The vice principal declared as he finally stopped outside one of the classroom doors. “This will be your English class with Mr Curtis.”

With that statement, the man opened the door of the classroom and walked through, Clark following after him. Clark found himself stood at the front of the classroom with the eyes of over twenty students suddenly upon him. Clark briefly met the eyes of the boy Derek had pointed out to him before hurriedly moving his eyes across the rest of the room.

“Class, I bring you another new student to make feel welcome,” the vice principal announced to the teenage onlookers. “This is Clark Hale though I believe some of you could already be familiar with him as he grew up in Beacon Hills. Go take a seat Clark.”

With one spare desk on the left-hand side of the classroom, Clark didn’t have much of a choice as to where he could sit. Frustratingly, it was on the other side of the classroom to the guy Derek wanted him to get to know. Clark took the only spare seat, realising the best time to start a conversation with the possible new werewolf would be at lunch.


	3. Drama, Rumors and Catfights

Surprisingly for Clark his first four lessons of the day went by fairly quickly, perhaps helped by the fact that he had missed half of his first English class. He’d survived until lunch, managing to keep his head down and avoid too much attention. He wasn’t normally one to keep a low profile but he had wanted to get a gauge of the school and its students before throwing himself into the social scene.

Tray of food in hand, Clark scanned the noisy cafeteria looking for one person in particular; the guy Derek had pointed out to him - or Scott, as Clark had learned his name to be during their English class together. It was only once Clark learned his name that he realised why the guy had seemed sort of familiar; they’d attended elementary school together and had taken part in a few brief interactions during that time.

Scott was sat at a table to the side of the cafeteria with Stiles who Clark had seen him with quite a lot in the corridors between classes. They seemed deep in conversation but that wasn’t going to stop Clark from interrupting.

“Hey guys,” he greeted after strolling confidently over to their table. They stopped their conversation immediately, making Clark realise he should have zoned in on what they were talking about before he interrupted, and looked up at him. Both seemed slightly surprised to find that it was him who had approached them. “Hope you don’t mind me joining you,” he commented as he placed his food down and took a seat, deciding not to pose it as a question and give them the chance to turn him away.

“No, not at all,” Scott responded with an encouraging shake of his head. “So how’s your first day going?”

Clark shrugged and bit into his apple before answering, “It’s a bit dull.”

“It’s school,” Stiles countered slowly, emphasising each word.

“Yeah exactly. It’s high school. There’s supposed to be drama and rumors and catfights,” Clark retorted.

“You’ve come on a quiet day,” Stiles explained.

“Right. Well please tell me this town has gotten a bit more interesting over the last few years,” Clark decided to try to subtly - he hoped - push them towards hinting at Derek’s suspicions.

“It’s Beacon Hills. Nothing happens in this town,” Scott responded dismissively.

Clark scoffed knowing full well he was wasting his time. Scott hardly knew him and was unlikely to trust him enough to risk looking like a lunatic by telling him he got bitten by a wolf… in California. Deciding not to waste any more time on doing what Derek told him to do, Clark stood up and walked away from the table, leaving his tray full of food and a half eaten apple behind.

Clark made sure to keep an ear on their conversation as he walked away and stopped at one of the vending machines, making it look like he was pondering over his actions. With him supposedly no longer in hearing distance there was a chance that one of them could actually mention something useful.

“Dude!” Stiles had exclaimed, hitting Scott in the arm as Clark had walked away, “You can’t tell Clark _Hale_ that nothing happens in this town.”

“What?” Scott sounded utterly confused.

“Did you bang your head last night as well?” Stiles questioned sarcastically and _that_ comment picked Clark’s interest, suggesting that Scott had been up to _something_ last night which must have left him with some kind of injury. “It was the reason he left Beacon Hills six years ago. Most of his family burned to death in a fire at their house.”

_“And you could have saved us.”_

Cora’s sudden and unexpected voice drew Clark’s undivided attention back to the vending machine he was stood at. In the reflection of the glass he was staring at was hers, standing behind him and smiling innocently. Clark gasped and spun around to face her only to be met by the sight of a girl who wasn’t Cora. She looked about his age - and so looked around the age that Cora would have been - but instead of Cora’s brown hair and brown eyes, this teenage girl had strawberry blonde hair, green eyes and an impatient look on her face.

“Are you going to stand there like an idiot all day or are you going to let other people get to the machine?” The girl questioned, sounding irritated and low on patience.

“If it means you end up standing there all day, maybe,” Clark retorted, complete with a boyish smirk.

The girl rolled her eyes. “I _have_ a boyfriend,” she informed him as she shoved past him to get to the vending machine, sounding like she was very much bragging about the fact.

Clark scoffed. “I’m not interested in you,” he told her with a shake of his head.

The girl hesitated and turned her head to look at him properly, “Then why would you want me to stand opposite you all day?”

Clark chuckled to himself as he began to take some backwards steps in the direction of the door out of the cafeteria. “You tell me,” He grinned, adding a wink and then turned around, heading straight for the door without a second look back. Confusing people was fun.

* * *

When the bell signalling the final class of the day rang out across the school Clark found himself with no idea as to where he was going. He knew he was scheduled for history but as for where the history classroom was, well that was a mystery. The hallway was getting quieter as the seconds ticked by with the other students familiar with the layout of the school having no problems finding their own classrooms.

Clark pulled a crumpled piece of paper out of his jacket pocket which was the map of the premises that the principal had given him in their meeting that morning. As he frowned at the contents of the map Clark remembered that it had ended up a crumpled piece of paper in his pocket because it was near enough impossible to understand.

“You look lost.”

Clark looked up from the map to see a guy that he recognised from some of his earlier classes that day. “It’s, uh Danny, right?” He asked, a little unsure if his memory was recalling the right name. After all there were a lot of new names to put to new faces.

“Yeah, yeah that’s right,” Danny answered appearing a little taken aback that Clark knew his name.

“Oh we’re in the same Math and French classes and I’m great with names,” Clark explained quickly, trying his best to stop the guy from thinking he was some kind of stalker. Though he knew for a fact that he would not know the names of every student he shared a class with which made him wonder just why he had remembered Danny.

“Right. You may be great with names but your map skills don’t look so great,” Danny observed.

“Or whoever drew this map was drunk at the time because it makes no sense!” Clark exclaimed in frustration.

Clark noticed an amused expression on Danny’s face before he spoke, “Or perhaps it would make more sense if you turn it the right way up?”

Clark had a moment of complete confusion when he glanced back down at the map before realising that he did, in fact, have the map upside down. Way to make himself look like a total idiot! “Well,” he said as he scrunched the map into a ball inside his fist, “Who needs a map when I have you to show me the way?”

“What lesson have you got?” Danny asked.

“History,” Clark replied.

“With Mr Kenneth?” Danny questioned, receiving a nod from Clark in response. “Same. Come on, I’ll show you the way.” Clark was more than relieved to hear that Danny was in his history class. History was one of his best subjects so he was hoping he’d be able to use the class to make himself look like less of an idiot after the map incident.

* * *

By the time Clark and Danny reached their history class, they were a few minutes late and the class had already begun. Danny opened the door to the classroom, the creaking of the old door alerting the teacher to their presence and interrupting his speech. “You’re late, Danny,” Clark heard the teacher comment as Danny walked in.

“I was helping one of our new students,” Danny explained, his hand indicating towards Clark as he also entered the room. “He was lost,” Danny added before walking further into the classroom as finding his seat in one of the middle rows.

Clark, for what felt like the hundredth time that day, found himself stood at the front of a classroom with all eyes on him. Mr Kenneth was not the old, wrinkled History teacher that Clark had been expecting when he first heard his name. The man was young - really young - and Clark had to assume it was his first year of teaching after completing his degree and training. “You must be Clark Hale,” Mr Kenneth assumed correctly. At the mention of his name, the whispers among some of his fellow students began.

“His family burned to death in a house fire.”

“They say it was an accident, an electrical problem.”

“The rumors are it wasn’t an accident.”

“What if he did it?”

_“You might as well have,”_ Cora suddenly appeared blending in amongst the students, sat at one of the desks a pen in her hand and a book out in front of her, _“You could have saved us.”_

“Mr Hale,” Mr Kenneth’s impatient voice brought Clark’s attention back onto his new history teacher. Clark quickly glanced back to Cora’s desk to see it taken up by a male student. The whole situation was starting to unnerve Clark. Haunting his dreams was one thing but his dead twin sister was starting to mix with his reality. Was he going crazy? “You don’t look so good. Do you need to see the nurse?”

“No, no, I’m fine,” Clark insisted immediately. A school nurse wasn’t going to be able to help him at all. He wasn’t sure anyone would.

“In that case, there’s a spare desk at the back of the classroom next to Jackson,” Mr Kenneth informed him, indicating to the right hand side of the room.

Clark grinned when his eyes met the blue eyes of the boy who would be sitting at the desk next to his for the rest of their history lessons that semester; Jackson Whittemore. “Long time, no see,” Clark said to his childhood best friend as he took a seat at his desk.

“I didn’t realise you were back in Beacon Hills,” Jackson replied in a whisper as Mr Kenneth resumed his teaching at the front of the class.

“Only got back last night,” Clark explained as he got a pen out to imply to the teacher that he was listening and interested in learning. “I didn’t see you all day. I thought you must have gone to one of those fancy prep schools.”

Jackson scoffed, “Yeah right. Like _I’d_ want to go there.”

Clark shrugged, “It’s been six years. People change.”

“But you’re still good at sports right?” Jackson questioned.

“I mean it depends on the sport. I wasn’t good at every sport,” Clark pointed out. “Why?”

“There’s open trials for the Lacrosse team after school,” Jackson explained. “You should try-out,” he encouraged enthusiastically.

“Lacrosse?” Clark questioned hesitantly. He hadn’t realised was Lacrosse a big thing in Beacon Hills. When Derek was in high school, all Clark had ever heard about was Basketball. Clark remembered getting dragged to watch all his games against his will. “I’ve never played Lacrosse.”

“Oh come on, you were good at every sport we ever tried as kids. Just give the try-outs a shot,” Jackson encouraged, “As captain, it would be great to have you on the team.”

“Fine,” Clark agreed. “But if I’m rubbish and end up looking like an idiot-”

“Mr Hale,” Clark was interrupted by the sound of his name being called - impatiently once again - by the history teacher. He looked to the front of the classroom to see Mr Kenneth looking at him with a look of exasperation. “I don’t know how things worked at your last school in San Francisco but here when the teacher is talking, you don’t.”

“New York,” Clark corrected before realising that calling the teacher out on not correctly remembering the information about him that no doubt found its way into all of his teacher’s emails was the best decision given his situation. When Kenneth gave him a questioning look, Clark reluctantly explained, “My last school was in New York, not San Francisco.”

“Details aren’t important,” Kenneth responded, frustrated.

“I’ll sure remember that for the first essay I write for your class,” Clark retorted with a smirk, causing laughter to ripple amongst the class. Unfortunately, Kenneth’s facial expression was far away from laughter.

“You think you’re clever, Hale?” Kenneth questioned, his irritation evident as Clark reached the realisation that he wasn’t making the best of first impressions. History was one of the few subjects he actually enjoyed and at the rate he was going Mr Kenneth wasn’t going to make it that enjoyable for him.

“Err… no?” Clark answered hesitantly, unable to work out what the best response would be given his situation.

“Talking over me when I’m teaching, talking back to me, it gives me the impression that you don’t think you need a teacher,” Kenneth said, “Like you think you could do a better job.”

“Does it?” Clark asked.

“Yes. Now if you don’t need to listen to me teach this class, I’m sure you’ll be able to teach it,” Kenneth spoke confidently, stepping away from his own desk. “Come on up.”

Clark sighed before standing up and taking the short walk up to the front of the classroom, cursing himself all the way for not being able to think before he spoke. Once again Clark felt all eyes on him as his own eyes caught sight of the subject of the class for the day written conveniently on the board in Kenneth’s block capital handwriting.

“Right then!” Clark grinned confidently and he span around to face the rest of the class. It was a good job he didn’t mind public speaking and being the centre of attention. “The Battle of the Little Bighorn,” Clark started, pointing at the title on the board as he spoke. “Or, as the Sioux tribe referred to it, the Battle of the Greasy Grass. It was fought on 25th June 1876 when the Sioux combined forces with the Cheyenne and Arapaho to defend their land and people against the US army. Their combined forces vastly outnumbered the US army around 2000:600. To cut a long story short, the US army were heavily defeated. Now one common viewpoint is that the heavy defeat was down to the actions of General Custer-”

“Okay, that’s enough,” Kenneth interrupted Clark just as he was really starting to get into it. He glanced to his left to see his teacher had been watching from the side of the classroom, his arms folded and a look of surprise on his face. “Hale, a word outside. Everyone else, just… find out why Custer can be held responsible for the defeat.”

Clark followed Kenneth out into the hallway, closing the classroom door as he left. With Kenneth out of the room, Clark could hear the whole class burst into conversation. “Let me guess, you’ve already covered this battle at your old school?” Kenneth assumed.

“Yeah,” Clark confirmed, glancing around the eerily empty corridor.

“When? Last week?” Kenneth questioned.

Clark hesitated, unsure if it was a trick question. “Last week was the holidays,” he pointed out carefully. “We did it before the break.”

“And you remembered all that?” Kenneth asked, sounding surprised by that realisation.

Clark shrugged, “History is one of my better subjects.”

With that, Kenneth’s questions ended and the two fell into silence during which Clark made an attempt to read his teacher and work out what he was thinking to no avail. He couldn’t work out if he was in a whole load of trouble or whether he had redeemed himself with the amount of history he remembered and his latest statement.

“Alright,” Kenneth eventually broke the uncomfortable silence. “I’ve been filled in on the events that occurred the last time you were here in Beacon Hills. Coming back here has probably been difficult and combined with that it’s your first day in a new school so I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt so long as you go back in there stay quiet and let me teach. Anything like that happens again and you’ll be in detention, understand?”

“Yes sir,” Clark nodded and hurried back into the classroom before Kenneth could change his mind.

“That was crazy,” Jackson commented as Clark returned to his seat.

“Yeah. And stupid,” Clark muttered back as he picked up his pen with the intention to actually use it to take notes. So much for keeping his head down.

* * *

The rest of the History lesson went by without incident with Clark keeping his mouth shut except for a few occasions on which he had been called on to answer some questions. Clark knew it was Kenneth’s way of ensuring he was listening.

“Now remember,” Kenneth said as the class began packing their things away, “Your group projects on the history of Beacon Hills is due in this time next week. Allison and Clark! Since you’re both new, can you pair up on this? Don’t worry, it doesn’t have to be as extensive and _detailed_ ,” Kenneth threw a pointed look in Clark’s direction, “As the rest. Just do your best.”

Clark collected a piece of paper detailing the assignment from Kenneth on his way out of the classroom. Outside the door he was met by a girl he had seen in his English and French classes earlier that day. She had also been given the assignment paper leaving Clark to deduce that she was in fact Allison. “Looks like we’re project pals,” Clark commented as they began to walk down the hallway together.

“Yeah and everyone else got a head start,” Allison reminded him. “Do you want to meet up after school one day to work on it?”

“Sure,” Clark agreed with a nod as Allison stopped walking, reaching what Clark could only assume to be her locker. Either that or she was breaking into someone’s locker. “Probably a good idea. I’m free tomorrow if you are?”

“Tomorrow sounds good,” Allison agreed as she started to place some of her books into her locker. “Your place or mine?”

Clark considered the fact that he and Derek were living in their old fire damaged house. “Yours is probably best,” he told her.

“Hey Allison,” Clark heard a familiar voice greet his new history project partner. “And vending machine boy,” the ‘ _I’ve-got-a-boyfriend’_ girl from lunch greeted him as Allison shut her locker door, revealing the two teenagers either side of her to each other.

“Vending machine girl,” Clark greeted sarcastically in response.

Allison gave Clark a weird look and then turned to her friend, “This is the guy who flirted with you then denied it at lunch?”

“That’s him,” The girl replied with a nod.

Clark rolled his eyes, “Trust me, I wasn’t flirting with you.”

“Good,” Jackson joined in the conversation as he arrived beside the girl and placed his arm around his waist, “Because then I’d have to punch you.”

“ _This_ is my boyfriend,” Jackson’s girlfriend said using the same bragging tone as she had used in the cafeteria earlier that day. Then, as if to rub it in his face even more, she turned to Jackson and kissed him. To his surprise, Clark felt a brief yet strong pang of jealousy hit him in the chest.

“I see you’ve met Lydia,” Jackson commented when the pair returned their attention to Clark and Allison.

“Not on a name basis but yeah,” Clark told Jackson before turning to Lydia and smiling at her, hoping to redo first impressions and all with proper introductions. “I’m Jackson’s best friend,” he told her, making sure to imitate her bragging tone.

Lydia turned to Jackson, confused, “What happened to Danny?”

“You replaced me?!” Clark exclaimed, feigning hurt and placing a hand over his heart to emphasise.

“Childhood best friend,” Jackson explained to Lydia. “Lydia, you remember Clark?”

“ _You’re_ Clark Hale?” Lydia turned to him incredulously. “I’d heard the rumors you were back but you look different.”

It was Clark’s turn to be confused. “You went to Beacon Hills Elementary?” Clark deduced, figuring there weren’t many other ways that they would have known each other. He got a nod from Lydia in response. “I don’t remember you.”

“Why would you? When you weren’t with Jackson you spent all your time with-” Lydia cut herself off, appearing to think twice about what she was going to say and then leaving the sentence hanging awkwardly in the air. Clark didn’t need her to finish her sentence though, he knew she was going to say Cora. “So, this weekend, there’s a party,” Lydia quickly moved on to avoid an awkward silence.

“A party?” Allison repeated, prompting for further information.

“Yeah, Friday night,” Jackson provided a few more details. “You should both come.”

“Uh, I can’t,” Allison turned down the invitation, sounding a bit uncomfortable. Clark was glad she spoke up first as it gave him a chance to try and find a good excuse. Friday night was also the full moon and whilst he’d tackled control of the shift on a full moon it required a lot of concentration. Loud music would not help with concentration. Besides, Derek would no doubt have him ensuring that Scott is as far away from people as possible if he continues to suspect the guy to have been bitten. “It’s family night this Friday. Thanks for asking.”

Lydia and Jackson both looked disappointed as Allison’s response before turning to Clark expectantly. “Sorry, I can’t,” Clark told them with a casual shrug, “My brother and I have family stuff to attend to.” Clark was fairly certain that vaguely mentioning family stuff wouldn’t receive any questions from Jackson or Lydia after Lydia had been so reluctant to bring up Cora’s name.

“You sure?” Jackson checked, sounding desperate to have as many people as possible there, “Everyone’s going after the scrimmage.”

“You mean like football?” Allison asked.

Jackson laughed at Allison question as if she had asked jokingly. “Football’s a joke in Beacon. The sport here is Lacrosse,” he informed her. “We’ve won the state championship for the last three years.”

Lydia looked up at Jackson with a sickening loving expression as she ruffled his hair, “Because of a certain team captain.”

With that comment and those actions, Clark could see exactly how Lydia had wound up Jackson’s girlfriend. As a child, Jackson had always been eager to receive compliments to help boost his ego. Apparently, not much had changed because the comment resulted in Jackson smiling smugly. “Well we have practice in a few minutes,” Jackson told them, “And Clark’s going to try for the team.”

“And _try_ not to look like an idiot,” Clark muttered dryly to himself. He still wasn’t sure it was the right idea. Whilst he’d watched a few games of Lacrosse before allowing him to understand the rules and the aim of the game, he’d never played, and he had no idea if he was any good.

“You’re coming,” Lydia informed Allison matter-of-factly, grabbing her hand and pulling her down the corridor.

“This is the type of game you’d be good at,” Jackson assured Clark as they both set off down the hallway, following after the two girls.

“You better be right.”


	4. Waltz to Lacrosse

Jackson led Clark into the boys changing room and straight to one of the storage cupboards. “This is all spare gear you can borrow,” Jackson told Clark, switching on the light to reveal a disorganised mess of battered helmets and pads, knackered gloves and aged sticks. “If you do make the team, I suggest you get yourself your own gear. This stuff is old.”

Clark picked up a lacrosse stick which pole was almost snapped in two, hanging loosely, “You think?”

“Here, I’ll find you the best stuff,” Jackson moved past him into the cupboard which, when inhabited by two teenagers and a whole load of lacrosse gear, did not leave much room to move around. Clark wasn’t normally one to feel claustrophobic but the minimal room had left him feeling restricted and trapped. He quickly backed out of the door, waiting for Jackson outside the cupboard.

Jackson began thrusting different items of gear out of the cupboard and into Clark’s arms. Until that moment, Clark had never realised how much gear was needed to play Lacrosse.

“Hey Clark!” Clark turned his head to his right to see Stiles had entered the changing room with Scott. “Are you trying out for the team?”

“Err, yep!” Clark confirmed as a second elbow pad came flying out of the cupboard in his direction. Somehow, Clark managed to catch it without dropping the mass of gear he already had in his hands. “Are you two trying out as well?” Clark asked, his gaze landing on Scott with some concern. If Scott had been bitten like Derek thought than playing Lacrosse would be a sure way for the new werewolf to expose their world to everyone.

“Actually, we’re already on the team,” Stiles informed him.

“Hardly,” Jackson scoffed as he re-emerged from the cupboard, carrying a helmet in his hand, “They’re the benchwarmers.”

“Not for much longer,” Scott insisted, sounding confident and that worried Clark.

“Come on,” Jackson said to Clark, already heading towards another area of the room, “We need to check all that stuff fits.”

“I’ll see you guys out there,” Clark told Scott and Stiles, determined to maintain a friendly nature between them even if Jackson didn’t appear to do the same. If Scott really had been bitten, Clark was sure he would have to spend a lot of time with him in the future to ensure he kept control.

* * *

There was somewhat of a trek from the changing rooms to the Lacrosse field that Clark had not been expecting. He would have thought they’d be located close to each other but had been proven wrong.

Once they reached the field, Jackson led him over to a man who was stood to the side of the field, whistle in hand as he oversaw the warmups of the students who had already arrived. “Coach, this is Clark Hale,” Jackson introduced.

Coach turned to him, studying him in a way that made Clark feel awkward in the silence. “Did you play Lacrosse at your old school?” Coach asked.

“No. I played Basketball,” Clark answered. Derek had talked him into it, talking about how he needed to take part in some normal activities and how he’d enjoyed playing the sport at his age.

Coach laughed at that and Clark wasn’t sure what he found so funny, “Basketball, right. Have you ever played Lacrosse?”

“Not exactly,” Clark admitted.

“So you think you can waltz from a basketball team right into my Lacrosse team without any experience in the game?” Coach questioned, obviously amused.

It sounded ridiculous when put like that but Clark’s previous uncertainty regarding his ability to play Lacrosse was gone, replaced by a determined confidence to prove the man laughing at him completely wrong. “Yeah. How hard can it be?” Clark responded arrogantly.

Coach just stared at him for a moment, trying to determine whether to admiring the boy for his confidence or laugh at him more for his naivety. “Lahey! Anderson! Get over here!” Coach called out.

Within seconds, the three were joined by two of the students who had been warming up out on the field. Both were tall, standing above Clark who (at around average height for his age) didn’t often feel particularly short. They were no doubt picked out by Coach in an attempt to make him feel intimidated. “Two on one. Show me what you’ve got Hale,” Coach instructed as he handed Clark a ball.

Clark pulled his helmet on and turned to face Lahey and Anderson who had readied themselves a few meters away. Being the shorter of the three, Clark reasoned to himself that he should have agility on his side. “Sometime today,” Coach commented impatiently.

With that, Clark ran towards his two opponents planning to get by the first by faking a left then running to his right. Before he realised what was happening, however, he was flat on his back on the ground with one of his opponents on top of him.

His next two attempts went similarly with Clark ending up on the ground. His fourth attempt resulted in specks of mud hitting his face as he fell helmet first into a clump of mud. Clark hit the ground with his fist in frustration; so much for proving the Coach wrong and not making himself look like an idiot. “I think Basketball trials are next week,” Coach told him and Clark could tell from his tone that he was trying really hard not to laugh.

Clark pushed himself to his feet, anger and frustration coursing through his veins and triggering his yellow eyes to glare in his helmet. “ _Again_ ,” he growled, turning to face Lahey and Anderson for the fifth time. Determined, Clark ran at them using his speed to successfully pull off the feint to get past his first opponent and then utilised his strength to stand his ground when his second attempted a tackle; instead of Clark getting tackled to the ground, his opponent was knocked backwards onto the floor, leaving Clark free to run to the cone behind them.

With his success, Clark managed to supress his anger and regain full control of himself. “That’s more like it, Hale!” Coach encouraged as Clark pulled his helmet off his head and hurried over to the opponent he had knocked to the floor.

“You okay?” Clark checked as he held a hand out to help the guy back to his feet.

“Yeah,” The boy answered as he took his hand and Clark helped him up.

“Put more strength into your tackle next time Lahey,” Coach instructed as he passed them by.

Jackson joined them, a triumphant grin on his face at the idea of Clark being on the team and pulling that sort of thing off routinely. He’d be sure to captain them to the state championships. “Told you that you could do it,” Jackson commented smugly.

“That was beginner’s luck,” Clark passed off, not getting ahead of himself. Without his wolf abilities he had been poor and with them he could have lost control or seriously injured Lahey. He’d gotten off lucky.

“That was natural talent,” Jackson argued.

“It was anger,” Clark countered as he spotted Scott and Stiles arriving whilst Jackson rambled on about channelling anger into Lacrosse making most players play better. Clark wasn’t really listening to Jackson, instead focussed on watching Scott. If he had nearly lost control, he didn’t want to think what could happen with Scott.

“Hey!” Jackson’s shout snapped Clark out of his thoughts and he turned back to his friend who was looking between him and Scott suspiciously, “What were you staring at him for?”

“I wasn’t,” Clark played innocent.

“You were,” Jackson insisted.

“Wasn’t,” Clark argued childishly.

A sudden flicker of realisation crossed Jackson’s face, “Please don’t tell me your attracted to _him._ ”

“No!” Clark denied quickly before looking at Jackson in surprise. “Wait, how did you know?”

“Lydia told me how you were so insistent that she wasn’t your type,” Jackson explained his deductions, “And your eyes kept wandering in the locker room.”

“No they didn’t,” Clark attempted to defend himself but gave up when Jackson raised an eyebrow at him as if to say ‘I know what I saw’.

Coach’s whistle put an end to their conversation as the attention of the two boys turned to him instead, “Let’s go! Come on!” Jackson and Clark glanced at each other before putting their respective helmets on and joining their fellow students to listen to Coach’s instructions, “We’re going to start nice and simple. McCall’s in goal. Take some shots.”

As the players headed towards the midfield line to form a group from which they could watch each other take their shots, Clark glanced at Scott who looked nervous and very much out of place stood in the goalmouth.

“Jackson, take first shot,” Coach instructed just before the assistant coach blew his whistle to signal the start of the drill. Whilst most of the students around him were busy watching Jackson ready himself for his shot and begin his run, Clark’s attention was wholly on Scott who appeared to be extremely sensitive to the whistle. That certainly suggested that Scott was transitioning to a wolf as Derek suspected.

Scott was still recovering from the unexpectedly loud sound of the whistle when Jackson took his shot and received a shot straight to the front of his helmet with enough force to knock him backwards into the goal and onto the floor. The players around Clark laughed as Jackson made his return back to the group and Scott got himself back onto his feet.

Clark then watched knowingly as Scott used his newfound reflexes to stop the four consecutive shots he faced after Jackson’s. The twitch of Scott’s head when he had stopped the first shot told Clark that Scott hadn’t experienced his enhanced reflexes prior to that moment but by the time he’d saved the fourth shot he was certainly enjoying it.

“Hale, you’re up!” Coach instructed.

Clark stepped forward and received the ball from the assistant coach. He hesitated and eyed up Scott before deciding if his opponent was using his newfound abilities then there would be no harm in him using a little extra strength. He made his run and then threw the ball with enough speed and power that, even with his reflexes, Scott had no chance. The ball hit the back of the net and Clark had to wonder how it hadn’t ripped a hole through it. He was glad it didn’t though because that would be hard to explain.

“That’s how you do it!” Coach exclaimed. “Abbot, you’re next.”

Clark returned to the rest of the players to watch Scott inevitably stop every shot he continued to face. Clark could tell Jackson was getting frustrated, his grip tightening on his Lacrosse stick each save Scott made. After Scott made his sixth consecutive shot, Jackson obviously couldn’t stand it any longer and shoved past the latest player that Coach had called on.

“This is not going to end well,” Clark muttered to himself as Jackson received the ball. At the sight of Jackson stepping up, Scott’s elated demeanour lost some confidence but Clark knew the chances of Jackson being able to beat Scott’s enhanced senses were minimal. Jackson commenced his run, leapt some good height into the air and took his shot with considerable power only for the ball to wind up nestled safely in Scott’s possession.

The small crowd that had gathered to watch burst into a cheer, including Lydia as noticed by both Clark and Jackson. Without being able to see his face, Clark knew that Jackson was pissed. He pulled off his helmet as he walked over to his friend and patted him on the shoulder to which Jackson pulled away from with a huff. “I thought you said he was a benchwarmer,” Clark commented light-heartedly as the two watched some of the players praise Scott on his performance before heading off.

“He is,” Jackson spoke through gritted teeth, his irritation obvious as he stared at Scott who had reached Stiles and was talking ecstatically to him.

“I take it he wasn’t this good before the holidays?” Clark checked simply to confirm that Scott surely had used enhanced reflexes and not simply that he was that good at Lacrosse.

“No. Which means he’s cheating and I’m going to find out how,” Jackson spat before storming off in the direction of the high school without another word.

“Bye then!” Clark called out sarcastically after him, a small smile on his face. Jackson hadn’t changed much apparently; he still hated not being the best.

* * *

After returning his borrowed gear to the store cupboard and collecting his own things, Clark headed out to the parking lot. With the parking lot emptied out, Clark easily spotted his brother’s black Camaro. He opened the back door first to chuck his backpack onto the back seats before getting into the front of the car. Derek’s facial expression was far from welcoming, instead echoing the irritation that had been radiating off Jackson back at the Lacrosse field.

“What’s wrong with you?” Clark inquired with complete obliviousness.

“You didn’t think to tell me you were going to go to the Lacrosse try-outs?” Derek asked.

“Didn’t realise I had to inform you on every decision I make,” Clark countered moments before the realisation hit him. “Have you been here for…”

“Almost an hour?” Derek finished his question before answering, “Yeah.”

“So how do you know I was at the try-outs?” Clark questioned.

“You weren’t answering your phone,” Derek began answering, prompting Clark to check his phone and find the missed calls, “I got fed up of waiting and went looking for you.”

“Were you spying on me?” Clark asked, his tone full with mock judgement.

“Clark! Laura was - _is_ missing and there’s an Alpha in this town whose identity we don’t know. When you’re thirty minutes late out of school what do you think I’m going to think?” Derek pointed out exasperatedly.

“So nice to know you care about me,” Clark responded with a grin.

His grin received a scowl from Derek, “This is serious.”

“Derek, you cover enough seriousness for the both of us,” Clark pointed out, “I do the fun. Now can you start the engine?”

After a brief pause, Derek started the car and pulled out of the school parking lot with a bit more speed than Clark had been expecting. He made a point to exaggerate putting his seatbelt on as Derek’s foot hit the gas further once they got onto the roads.

“I’m guessing you saw Scott’s goalkeeping at the try-outs,” Clark spoke up with his assumption following a few minutes of driving in silence. “Jackson thinks he’s cheating so those reflexes are definitely new.”

“You know what you need to do then,” Derek started.

Clark didn’t let him finish, “Keep an eye on him. I know.”

* * *

Clark was at the side of the Lacrosse field, sat on the bench with Stiles as he watched the team play. The game hadn’t gone off to the best of starts with the Cyclones going into halftime five - one down. Scott had jumped into action after that, taking on the opposing team with individual runs and giving the team a fighting chance again.

With four minutes remaining in the final period of the game Scott successfully pegged it back to five - five but only after tackling his own teammate to gain possession of the ball, leaving his fellow student in a heap on the ground.

Coach appeared in front of Clark, “You’re up.”

Before he could even think about it, Clark found himself in the middle of the game and receiving a pass from Jackson which set him up perfectly for a shot at goal. When Clark made his shot, time appeared to slow as he held his breath and waited to see if it would make it past the keeper.

Clark heard the cheers before he processed the fact that he had indeed scored. The final whistle went seconds after and the supporting crowd flooded down off the bleachers and onto the field. Suddenly, Clark was lifted into the air by celebrating teammates and players as they chanted his name. Clark grinned, not hating the attention and joined in with the celebrations, pumping his fist in the air.

When Clark’s feet returned to the ground, he was stood face to face with the opposing team’s captain. “Well played. You saved your team,” they congratulated before pulling their helmet off and Clark suddenly found himself standing face to face with Cora. “But you couldn’t save us,” she added, prompting the rest of her team to appear around her, helmets off and revealing the faces of all the other family members Clark had lost that night.

Clark woke with a start and momentarily expected to find himself in his bed in New York until he remembered that they were currently residing in their fire damaged childhood home and he was on a second-hand mattress on the floor. Derek’s living standards were certainly a lot lower than Laura’s. The three bedroom apartment back in New York was luxury compared to the house in which their whole family died and proceeded to haunt his dreams. Clark groaned as he dropped his head back onto his pillow. With three consecutive nights of bad dreams, Clark felt like he was starting to get to the stage where he would kill for a proper night’s sleep.

* * *

“I can’t wait until you learn to drive,” Derek commented as he pulled into the parking lot of the high school for the third time in twenty-four hours.

“Does that mean you’re going to buy me a car and pay for driving lessons for my birthday next month?” Clark asked eagerly whilst grabbing his bag off the backseat.

“No.” Derek made sure to get that idea out of his brother’s head before he could get to attached to the thought.

“You’re a terrible brother,” Clark shot at him.

“Get out of the car,” Derek instructed, opting to completely ignore the insult.

“Yeah, you have a good day too,” Clark responded sarcastically as he opened the car door prompting Derek to roll his eyes at him. Clark got out of the door and was about to shut the door when a thought crossed his mind. “Oh yeah,” he started, pulling the door open further and evidently testing Derek’s patience from the look on his face, “I’m going to be working on a project with a classmate after school. I’ll find my own way home.” With that information conveyed Clark pushed the door shut and Derek had his foot on the accelerator before Clark was even five steps away from the car. Clark had no idea what his brother was in such a hurry to go and do; it certainly wasn’t like he was late for work.

“Hey! Clark!” Clark heard a voice calling for his attention as he was making his way towards the main doors of the school building. He stopped and glanced around to find Stiles and Scott approaching him from behind.

“Ah it’s the super-keeper! And Stiles,” Clark greeted with a smile.

“That was just a lot of practice and some luck,” Scott spoke dismissively and Clark couldn’t tell if he actually believed that.

“You managed to score your shot,” Stiles pointed out.

“Now _that_ was definitely luck,” Clark told them fully regretting having made the decision to ensure that he scored against Scott. The last thing he needed to do was stand out.

“So what was your brother doing out in the woods last night?” Stiles asked, trying his best to make the question sound natural - as if it had just come up in conversation - and failing.

“How would I know?” Clark questioned in response as he turned and headed through the doors of the school. He needed to get some books from his locker before his first class. Unfortunately, Scott and Stiles didn’t seem content with that answer as they followed after him.

“Because he’s your brother,” Stiles reasoned, his tone suggesting that it was obvious.

“I’m going to assume that neither of you have any siblings,” Clark pretended to infer from that response. In reality, he had been doing his homework on the pair of friends during the entirety of his first day at the school, doing his best to subtly guide his conversations with fellow classmates onto Scott and Stiles. “If you did, you would know that just because you’re related it doesn’t mean you magically know everything they’re doing and their reasoning for it.” Reaching his locker, Clark turned to face Scott and Stiles. “I didn’t know he was in the woods last night. Why were you guys there?”

“We were looking for my inhaler,” Scott answered and Clark heard his heartbeat increase in speed ever so slightly with that statement. He certainly wasn’t telling the whole truth.

“See,” Clark started to reply as he turned to his locker and started entering his combination, “Derek probably has some simple explanation like that for being in the woods last night.”

“Oh, like he probably has a simple explanation for having Scott’s inhaler in his possession?” Stiles questioned and Clark made a mental note, as he pulled a French textbook out of his locker, to get Derek to become more forthcoming with him when it came to his encounters with Scott. Clark didn’t know that Derek had even made his existence known to Scott, let alone returned an inhaler to him. From the little information he’d received from Stiles, Clark inferred that Derek had found Scott’s inhaler at some point after Scott had been bitten. If Derek had informed him about this, Clark would at least have been more prepared for Stiles’ insistent questioning.

“Probably,” Clark responded exasperatedly as he pushed his locker door shut. “But as to what that explanation is, I don’t know! Because until two seconds ago I didn’t even realise he had Scott’s inhaler! If it is so important that you know why, maybe you should go and bother him because I need to get to my French class.”


	5. Haywood and Argent

“I thought that class was never going to end!” Clark complained as he left his Chemistry class with Jackson and Danny. Unlike his first day at Beacon Hills High School, his second day was dragging and he had finally made it to lunch. That class had marked the first time he’d seen either Scott or Stiles since first thing that morning and he had made a point of saying a brief ‘hello’ after the way he’d ended their earlier conversation before taking a seat at the table with Jackson and Danny.

“That’s how Harris’ classes typically feel,” Danny told him as the three of them made their way towards the cafeteria.

“Make that everyone’s classes,” Jackson corrected. His old friend was certainly in a better mood than he had been after the Lacrosse practice. Clark had noticed, however, that Lacrosse hadn’t come up once in their hushed conversations at the back of the Chemistry class and assumed that Danny was purposely avoiding the topic. Clark had picked up on the odd suspicious glance Jackson had sent in Scott’s direction during the lesson and accepted that avoiding talking about Lacrosse was a good call.

They reached the cafeteria and Jackson led the way through the cafeteria and around a lot of free seats until they reached the table that Lydia and Allison were already sat at with a few guys that Clark vaguely recognised from previous classes and Lacrosse.

“Clark, this is Kyle Anderson,” Jackson introduced him to the first of the two guys that Clark didn’t know by name as the three took their seats at the table. Kyle, Clark observed, had a very stereotypical jock appearance about him. He was well-built with broad shoulders and well-defined muscles which just screamed ‘hey, look at me, I work out!’ “And this is Jamie Abbot,” Jackson introduced him to the second guy. He certainly wasn’t as muscular as Kyle and wasn’t as conventionally good-looking; he had pale skin which was only highlighted by his jet black hair and the dark clothes he wore.

“You were the one who actually managed to score past McCall yesterday, right?” Kyle observed, prompting Clark and Danny to share a knowing look with each other, well aware of how Jackson was going to respond.

“McCall was obviously cheating,” Jackson maintained his argument from the previous night, fully believing it too. Clark inwardly groaned; the last thing he, or Scott, needed was for Jackson to be suspicious of the transitioning werewolf.

“I don’t think he’s the type to cheat,” Allison spoke up to defend Scott.

“Yeah,” Lydia agreed with Allison, “He probably spent a lot of time practising over the break.”

“No.” Jackson argued, his tone harsh. “You don’t get that good that fast.”

“Perhaps he’s better in goal than out on the field,” Clark made an attempt to decrease Jackson’s suspicions.

“I hope not,” Danny spoke up, somewhat unhelpfully Clark commented in his head, “I don’t want him taking my position from me.”

“He’s going to end up taking someone’s position,” Jamie joined the conversation and Clark was left slightly surprised when he picked up on the English accent that Jamie had.

“No he’s not,” Jackson argued, his three little words gaining him the attention of everyone sat at the table. “I’m going to expose him before he even gets near anyone’s position.” Clark sighed at that statement; it was only twenty-four hour ago that he had been complaining to Scott and Stiles about the lack of drama in the school.

* * *

“Are you still available after school?” Allison asked as she and Clark walked into their history class behind Jackson, Danny and Jamie.

“Of course!” Clark confirmed.

“Need a lift?” Allison offered as she took her seat.

“That would be ideal,” Clark took the offer without needing to think about it. The high school was on the outskirts of the town and he wasn’t feeling the trek after how long the day had felt. “I’ll meet you after class,” he told her before continuing on to the back of the classroom to take his own seat.

“Alright then class, settle down,” Kenneth instructed as he took his position at the front of the class. “You’ve had all of lunch to chat. I’m sure you can manage one last hour of listening before school is over for another day.” Clark couldn’t help but feel like Kenneth was looking at him in particular with that statement.

Clark’s interest in history did nothing to speed the lesson up. Like his classes earlier that day, History was dragging. The clock signalled that they were half-way through the lesson but Clark was adamant that the minute hand hadn’t moved in at least ten minutes. His boredom wasn’t helped by the fact that Clark had already covered The American West and the struggles for the plains at his previous school. Everything Kenneth was talking about he already knew which meant the entire lesson felt like a waste of time to him.

A figure in the window of the classroom door caught Clark’s eye. The figure was dressed in full Lacrosse gear, confusing Clark who had been told by Jackson that the final try-outs were on Friday. The figure removed their helmet revealing Cora underneath, echoing his earlier dream. After three nights and two days of his twin haunting him day and night Clark had had enough. He stood up and made a run for the door, ignoring the shouts of his teacher.

Clark burst through the classroom door and out into the corridor. Cora had already started moving away, walking down the corridor and towards a set of doors which led outside. “Cora! Cora!” Clark yelled as he sprinted after her, quickly gaining on her. Clark grabbed her by the shoulders and spun her around so they were face-to-face. “I’ve had enough of this! Leave me alone.”

“Clark!” Clark easily recognised the English accent of Jamie and looked over his shoulder to see that the other boy had followed him out of the classroom. “What are you doing? Let her go.”

“You don’t understand,” Clark growled in frustration before turning back to face Cora. Clark instantly released his tight grip and stumbled back in horror upon finding himself face-to-face with a terrified freshman.

“Are you alright, mate?” He heard Jamie ask but completely ignored him.

Clark had his eyes shut tight and rubbed his temples as he tried to work out what the hell had happened. “I’m going crazy,” he muttered to himself.

“You’re not crazy, Clark.” Clark heard Jamie insist from further down the corridor.

Clark eyes flew open. “I’m not crazy? Tell me what the hell I am then because I was convinced that that girl was my sister!” Clark exclaimed as he marched down the corridor in anger so to close the gap between him and Jamie. “I’ve been seeing my sister everywhere for two days but she’s _dead._ She _died_ six years ago. So tell me, Jamie, how the hell am I not crazy?”

Jamie placed a comforting hand on Clark’s shoulder and suddenly all the anger, confusion and fear that Clark was feeling disappeared. Jamie smiled at him, “You’re not crazy. You’re just adjusting to being back here. When you were last in Beacon Hills, she was always here with you. Your heart wants her to be here with you and your brain’s trying to make that happen.”

Clark couldn’t believe how much calmer he felt after that. “Do you take Psychology?” Clark asked. Jamie just laughed at that question.

“Clark and Jamie,” Kenneth made his presence in the hallway known, “Back in the classroom.” Making it the second time that Clark had disturbed one of his lessons in as many days, Clark struggled to understand why Kenneth was choosing to ignore his interruption to the class. He wasn’t about to question him, however, and quickly followed Jamie back into the classroom and to their seats.

“What was that about?” Jackson asked him but Clark pretended not to hear him. He needed time to come up with some kind of excuse and just hoped that Jamie would keep his mouth shut.

The remainder of the lesson went considerably fast and before long Clark was packing his things up alongside the rest of his class. “What happened?” Jackson inquired again as the room began to empty out with other students leaving.

“I just needed some air. It got really stuffy in here for a bit,” Clark lied.

“What? Like a panic attack?” Jackson asked.

“I don’t know man,” Clark sighed as he put his arm through one of his bag straps, “It’s never happened to me before.”

“But you’re fine now,” Jackson stated questioningly.

“Yeah I’m good,” Clark insisted. “Let’s get out of here,” he added and the two made their move for the door.

“Clark, a word before you go,” Kenneth called making Clark stop before he reached the door. He knew it had been too good to be true.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Clark told Jackson before turning to face his teacher. “Look, I know that’s the second time in as many days that I’ve interrupted one of your lessons,” Clark began his apology speech after Jackson left, “But, believe it or not, I’m definitely not trying to make a habit of it. It just got a bit hard to breathe for a moment and - well, anyway, it won’t happen again.”

As Clark had been speaking, Kenneth had moved around the room to close the classroom door. Clark couldn’t help but feel cornered with that action. Kenneth remained stood in front of the door, blocking his exit. “Clark, I followed Jamie out. I saw the whole thing,” Kenneth informed him.

“And by the whole thing, you mean…” Clark trailed off, prompting Kenneth to tell him exactly what he had seen. Clark wasn’t stupid enough to automatically assume that Kenneth had actually seen the entire thing. He wasn’t about to give out all the details in a panic.

“I heard you telling Jamie that you were going crazy,” Kenneth informed him, his tone soft and gentle and there was something in the way his teacher looked at him with his green eyes which told Clark that the guy was genuinely concerned.

“That was just a joke,” Clark attempted to dismiss his teacher’s concerns.

“I understand that you don’t want to talk about this with me,” Kenneth ignored his dismissal. “But you can’t tackle this on your own. I’ve sent an email to the school’s counsellor and you have an appointment to see her tomorrow during your free period.”

“I don’t need-”

“Clark. Do you really want to keep seeing your sister everywhere for the rest of your life?” Kenneth interrupted him.

“Of course not!” Clark answered the obvious question.

“Then you need to accept the help being given to you,” Kenneth told him and took Clark’s lack of response as acceptance. Kenneth moved away from the door and to his desk, giving Clark the opportunity to leave. Clark approached the door, his hand reaching out for the door handle when Kenneth spoke again, “Of course, I’m going to have to inform your brother about this.”

“He already knows,” Clark lied smoothly. “We’ve been trying to work on it,” Clark added then opened the door and leaving all whilst hoping that Kenneth would take his word for it and not call Derek. Clark had been insisting to Derek that his nightmares had gone; with Derek focusing his attention on finding Laura, the last thing Clark wanted to do was distract him.

* * *

“What brought you to Beacon Hills?” Clark asked Allison to make conversation as she took a left turn. She had waited for him in the parking lot after history class. Either Allison understood that Clark didn’t want to talk about what had happened in class or Jackson had passed on the ‘needed air’ excuse because she hadn’t even brought it up.

“My dad’s job. He’s a security consultant so there’s lots of moving around,” Allison answered and briefly took her eyes off the road to glance at him, “How about you? What brought you back?”

“My sister,” Clark answered her vaguely.

“I didn’t realise you had a sister,” Allison commented. “You only mentioned a brother at lunch.”

“Yeah well she’s kind of missing at the moment,” Clark admitted, knowing full well that it was going to lead to questions he didn’t particularly want to answer.

“Have you filed a missing person’s report with the Sheriff?” Allison asked.

“No. My brother will find her,” Clark answered confidently, telling himself that as much as he was answering her question.

“The Sheriff could help though,” Allison insisted as Clark’s phone started ringing.

“I have to take this,” Clark said as he grabbed the phone from his pocket. “Hello!” He answered without even checking the caller ID.

“Clark, I’m with Danny,” Clark recognised Jackson’s voice on the other side of the call. “We thought you could join us, do some Lacrosse practice and then get some food later.”

“That sounds great,” Clark told him as Allison pulled onto the driveway of her house. “But I’m kind of busy right now,” Clark admitted as he got out of the car. “Can we do it tomorrow instead?”

“I guess so,” Jackson agreed as Clark followed Allison up the driveway and towards the front door. Clark could hear the frustration at essentially being told ‘no’ in Jackson’s voice. “What are you even doing?”

“I’m at Allison’s house,” Clark told him as he watched Allison unlock the door of the house. He signalled to her to tell her he’d be in as soon as he finished his call.

“Toby Allison’s?” Jackson immediately inferred one of the guys from the Lacrosse team with a suggestive tone.

“What? Why is that your first thought?” Clark exclaimed in disbelief before putting him right, “The Allison that Lydia’s befriended that we spent lunch with and have history with!”

“Oh Allison Argent. Why are you with her?” Jackson questioned incredulously.

“Because we have to do a history project together in one week when you have all had-” Clark began to answer but stopped himself. “Wait. What did you say?”

“I didn’t say anything!”

“No, her name. You said her name was…”

“Allison Argent, yeah. What’s wrong with that. It’s her name.”

“I’ve got to go,” Clark told him quickly and ended the call before Jackson had a chance to argue with him. He stared at the open door in front of him, unsure of what to do. The Argents were a well-known family of werewolf hunters his family had had unfortunate encounters with in the past. They were a family whose attention Clark really did not need to draw upon himself.

It was at that moment that a sudden realisation hit Clark. If Allison was an Argent she was most likely involved in the family business. Perhaps she had encouraged Kenneth to pair them together for a history project in order to lure him back to her family of hunters.

There was, however, a chance that it was just a coincidence and that the family really did move around a lot because of a security job. Clark wasn’t sure he wanted to risk it though.

“What are you doing?” Allison questioned, reappearing in the doorway and giving him a weird look for standing there and staring through the door of her house. “Come on! We have work to do,” she reminded him and, before he had a chance to say or do anything, grabbed his arm and pulled him through the door.

“You know, maybe it’s worth doing this in the library at school tomorrow,” Clark suggested as Allison pushed the front door shut, closing him in. “We could find some books to help us there.”

“But you’re here now and we have the internet,” Allison topped his argument convincingly. “Why are you acting weird?”

“I’m not acting weird,” Clark responded.

“You are!” Allison insisted. “You’ve been acting weird since that phone call. What’s going on?”

“Nothing’s going on,” Clark told her. “Can we get on with this project? Are we going to your room?” Clark asked, already starting up the stairs. The sooner they got in her room, the less chance there was of him crossing paths with more possible werewolf hunters. He reckoned he could take Allison if it came to a face-off between the two of them. If others of her family got involved, he wasn’t so confident.

“Actually,” Allison started, causing Clark to stop where he was on the second step of the stairs. “I thought we could work on the dining room table.”

Clark rubbed the back of his neck somewhat nervously as he glanced longingly up the stairs before turning back to face Allison. “Downstairs?”

“Yes. In here,” Allison confirmed and pointed through to the dining room with Clark’s somewhat paranoid brain picturing it to be filled with traps.

Clark responded by pointing dumbfoundedly up the stairs, “Not upstairs?”

“I only have one desk up there,” Allison informed him. “There’s more room for us to work down here.”

“We won’t need that much room,” Clark told her dismissively, taking a hopeful step up onto the third step then stopping again when Allison made no move to follow him.

“Why are you so eager to go upstairs?” Allison asked him, folding her arms as she stared at him suspiciously. “Did you think this was some sort of invitation to hook-up?”

“What? No!” Clark insisted immediately, his eyes going wide at her assumption.

“Because I’m not that type of person.”

“I never said you were!”

“And, even if I wanted to - which I _don’t_ -”

“And I don’t!”

“-both of my parents are home.”

“They are?” Clark gulped.

“They are.” A deeper voice responded and Clark watched as a man appeared beside Allison. The look that he received from the man suggested that he was Allison’s father and had heard far more of the conversation than Clark wanted him to. Werewolf hunter or not, Clark was definitely on the guy’s bad side.

“Right,” Clark sighed as he slowly moved back down the steps and into the hallway. “I think there’s been a slight misunderstanding here. I’m not interested in your daughter at _all_ ,” Clark insisted. “I’m gay so she’s pretty much the opposite of my type!”

There was an awkward silence that followed in which Allison’s father maintained his stare making Clark more and more uneasy as the seconds passed by.

“Maybe we should forget all this happened and start over?” Allison suggested, breaking the tense atmosphere and sending Clark an apologetic look. “Clark, this is my Dad. Dad, this is Clark Ha-”

“Wood,” Clark cut her off quickly, receiving more questioning looks from Allison and her Dad. He swallowed before clarifying, “Haywood. Clark Haywood.”

“You’re being weird again,” Allison commented.

Clark gave her dad a sideways glance who was continuing to look at him suspiciously, “No I’m not.”

“Then why are you saying your last name’s Haywood when it’s Hale?” Allison asked him sounding entirely confused and totally oblivious. Either she was a good actress, she hadn’t been told about her family’s role in the supernatural world or their surname being Argent was a total coincidence.

Whilst Clark was hoping it was the latter, another sideways glance at her dad revealed a knowing and amused look which made Clark conclude it was one of the first two options. He swallowed nervously. “That’s what I said, isn’t it?” He made a lame attempt to cover up his distraction effort, kicking himself for believing it would even work.

“Well, welcome to the house Clark,” Allison’s Dad guided the conversation back to normality. If Clark hadn’t had caught his knowing look earlier, his cheerful tone would have sounded genuine. He placed an arm on Clark’s shoulder, demonstrating his tight grip, as he guided the teenager through to the dining room after Allison. “You two can get to work in here. Can I get you anything to drink, Clark?”

“I’m fine,” Clark told him as Allison began setting up her laptop and other books at the table.

“In fact, Clark can I borrow you whilst Allison’s setting up?” Argent asked. “I’ve got some heavy boxes that need moving and you seem like a strong guy.”

“Dad, I’m practically set up already,” Allison protested, sounding eager to get on with the project. Clark was just as eager to start; the sooner they started, the sooner he could leave the house and never go back. Their next project session could be at his fire-wrecked house for all he cared.

“He’ll be back in a few minutes,” Argent insisted and Clark found himself following out of curiosity. _Curiosity killed the cat_ he thought to himself as he followed the older man through the house. But he wasn’t a cat and Argent wasn’t going to kill him - not immediately and not without lots of questions from Allison who seemed completely oblivious to the situation.

“She doesn’t know, does she?” Clark questioned as he followed Argent into what looked to be a garage, the darkness of the room making it difficult to tell for certain.

“I think I’m in the position to be asking the questions,” Argent avoided answering as he hit the light switch. The lights clicked on confirming that they were in a garage. It wasn’t, however, a typical garage with the opposing wall lined with weapons. Clark stayed quiet, determined to find out why Argent had been so eager to get him on his own. “You know, when Allison first told me last night that a boy named Clark Hale was coming over today, I couldn’t decide if you were brave or stupid.”

Clark certainly felt even more stupid for his earlier ‘Clark Haywood’ attempt after finding out that Argent had already known who he was. “Trust me, if I had known she was an Argent, I wouldn’t be here,” Clark told him.

“Actually, I’m glad you’re here,” Argent replied, his response both surprising and confusing Clark. “It gives us a chance to have this talk. Now, Allison says you returned here on Sunday.”

It was funny how fast certain pieces of information could spread around high schools. Clark hadn’t actually spoke to Allison about that but he assumed it had reached her through Jackson and Lydia. “Yeah?” Clark confirmed hesitantly, completely unsure where Argent was going with the conversation.

“Did you know,” Argent began to talk again as he inspected one of many tasers in his collection. Clark knew he was doing it to unnerve him and it was kind of working. “That we hunters have a code? One of the purposes of the code is to prevent us from becoming the monsters that we kill. Nous chasson ceux qui nous chasson. It means-”

“We hunt those who hunt us,” Clark finished for him receiving an impressed look from Argent. “Je connais un peu de Français.”

“Right. Essentially the code means unless we have proof that you have, or are planning to, hurt someone, we can’t… intervene,” Argent promptly got the discussion back on topic. “Now whilst I have no proof, it’s highly suspicious that the police find half of a dead girl’s body the same day your family return to town.”

“What body?” Clark asked, completely in the dark. He hadn’t heard anything about a dead body.

“Playing dumb. Good move because if I come across the slightest bit of proof that you or your brother are responsible for that girl’s death, the code allows me to take action.” Clark couldn’t tell if Argent was warning him or threatening him.

“You won’t find any proof,” Clark assured him confidently, “We’re not murderers.”

“Regardless, your world can be dangerous and I don’t want Allison caught up in it,” Argent responded, not looking like he believed Clark as he confirmed the younger’s suspicions that Allison didn’t truly know the line of work her family were in. “So you’re going to keep me happy and you’re going to stay away from her.”

“That’s kind of easier said than done,” Clark responded. “I mean, we’ve got this project together, we share classes and my friend’s girlfriend also happens to be one of her friends…”

“I’m sure you’ll work it out,” Argent replied confidently as Clark trailed off. “You can start by going upstairs and telling her something’s come up and you need to leave.” Clark sighed; it wasn’t going to paint him in a good light to Allison but if it kept him ever so slightly on Argent’s good side, he was going to have to do it.

* * *

“You’re back early,” Derek commented as Clark stepped through the scorched front door. His brother was hanging from the doorframe leading into what was once the living room, in the midst of doing pull-ups. He hadn’t even looked round when Clark had entered and Clark knew that Derek had caught his scent before he’d even passed the Camaro parked out the front.

“Yeah, her father didn’t want me there,” Clark told him, dropping his bag at the foot of the stairs. It would remain there until he had to leave for school in the morning.

At that statement, Derek immediately let go of his grip on the doorframe and dropped to the floor, turning to face Clark, “Her father kicked you out?”

Clark rolled his eyes as he walked past Derek and dropped down onto the remains of a couch. They really needed to invest in some basic furniture now they were staying longer than originally planned. “Don’t get all protective older brother on me now,” Clark replied as he checked him phone to find texts from Jackson and Danny. “It was basically a mutual decision. I didn’t want to stay there any longer than I needed to.”

Derek pulled the phone out of his hand before he had a chance to read the texts. “What are you talking about?” Derek asked, pulling the phone further out of Clark’s reach as he made a move to grab it back. Clark had recently experienced a growth spurt but his older brother was still almost three inches taller than him and using it to his advantage. Clark hoped one day he’d surpass Derek and turn the table on him.

Clark sighed, knowing he wasn’t going to get his phone back until he gave Derek some more sufficient details, “The Argents are in town. Just three of them from what I could tell. Allison - the girl in my grade - is completely in the dark, not sure about her mom but her dad’s got a garage full of weapons. He also seems to think it’s not a coincidence that we returned the same day the police found half a dead body. Did you know about that?”

“No,” Derek replied simply and promptly handed Clark his phone back before making a move for the hallway and the stairs.

“Derek, wait!” Clark called after him. His brother stopped but appeared to hesitate before turning around and looking at him expectantly, eyebrows raised. Clark froze for a moment, unsure if he really wanted to hear an answer to his question but when Derek got impatient and made a move to walk off again, Clark quickly forced the words out, “Anything on Laura?”

“If the situation changes, I’ll tell you,” Derek responded dismissively. Clark stared at him, he might as well have said ‘I’ve had two whole days to find her and have failed to come up with anything.’

“I was thinking,” Clark spoke up quickly as Derek made yet another attempt to move and end the conversation. The walk from Allison’s house had been considerably long and as he hadn’t been able to stop himself from considering Allison’s suggestion of involving the police. “Maybe we should file a missing persons report? The police could help you look for her and maybe someone saw something that could help?”

Derek looked far from impressed. “This isn’t some normal kidnapping, Clark. Laura’s an alpha. She’s powerful. Which means if she’s gone missing, something powerful has taken her. Do you really want to get the police involved in that?”

Derek was up the stairs and out of sight before Clark had a chance to respond. Clark sighed as he returned to what was left of the couch, phone in hand once again. Where his home life was filled with talks about werewolves, hunters and his sister being missing, his phone gave him a chance to escape all that and get glimpses of a normal teenager’s life.

He clicked on the messages from Jackson first:

_I’m just leaving Danny now. You still at Allison’s? We were thinking burgers tomorrow._ 4.03PM

_McCall’s got to be on steroids. What do you think?_ 4.20PM

_Did you know they’re saying bright colored vegetables like carrots increase your reaction time by 10%?_ 5.01PM

Clark chuckled to himself at Jackson’s obsession with Scott’s improved Lacrosse performance as he typed out a reply: _Maybe if you put that much research into school work your grades would improve._ It was only after he sent his response that Clark realised that Jackson’s obsession could lead him a little too close to the truth for Clark’s liking. Jackson and his friends were meant to be his escape to normality. Scott could ruin that for him.

Clark moved on to the text from Danny:

_Jackson told me about the panic attack. Hope you’re okay. If you need to talk, call me._ 4.13PM

Clark caught himself smiling as he typed out a response: _Thanks. I’m fine now. Might take you up on that offer some other day._


	6. Childish

“Why have I been dragged into this?” It was a nice warm, sunny day and Clark was sat out in the garden at Jackson’s expensive looking table, sunglasses on and tropical juice in hand as the other boy fetched supplies. Cora, however, was not so relaxed; her own cup of juice had immediately been placed on the table and she refused to sit down, standing with her arms folded glaring at her brother and complaining. “He’s your friend, not mine.”

“But our science project is on twin telo- tela-” Clark stumbled over the big word their teacher had used in response to he and Jackson excitedly telling her about their plan to demonstrate that twins could read each other’s minds. Realising it was far too long a word for him to remember let alone pronounce, he reverted back, “Twins being able to read minds! Which means we need you.”

“But we can’t,” Cora pointed out as if Clark had forgotten that fact as he definitely it appeared that way. Clark had been obsessed with proving that they could do it a few months ago and just as he had finally given up, it seemed that Jackson had come up with the oh-so-brilliant science project idea.

“He doesn’t know that and we’re going to make him think we can!” Clark told her, a huge grin on his face as he refused to give her a say in the matter. “Sit down!”

Somewhat reluctantly, Cora took the seat opposite her brother at the table as Jackson came running out, his hands filled with random objects, one piece of slightly crumpled paper and some pens. Jackson dropped all the items on to the table, except for one which he held between his thumb and finger.

“Why have you got a pin?” Cora questioned, eyeing Jackson suspiciously. “I thought we were doing mind reading.”

“Not just mind reading. We’re doing all the senses,” Jackson responded in a tone which suggested that she had already been told this. “They say twins can sense each other’s pain.”

Cora instantly turned to Clark, “You didn’t tell me this.”

“It was hard enough to get you to agree to mind reading,” It was Clark’s turn to complain. “But you’re here now so you might as well do it,” he added with his annoying innocent smile which often made Cora want to punch him because he knew far well he wasn’t innocent yet it would win over the adults who would take one look and subdue to him. “Me first!” Clark instructed Jackson eagerly, putting his arm out.

Jackson approached Clark with the pin and readied it above Clark’s arm. Clark glanced over at Cora who had an exasperated ‘boys’ look on her face. Both twins knew that they hadn’t been able to feel each other’s pain before and Clark knew from looking at Cora that she wasn’t about to willingly play along. “Ready?” Jackson asked, sounding a little to eager to cause a little pain to his supposed best friend. Clark nodded in response and, as he felt the pin go into his arm, he quickly and subtly kicked Cora under the table.

“Ow!” Cora exclaimed, jumping up from her seat and moving away from the table before Clark had a chance to kick her again. “Clark!”

“It does work!” Jackson exclaimed, his excitement at the revelation preventing him from noticing that Cora was holding her shin as opposed to her arm.

“Cora, let Jackson do it to you! See if I can feel your pain,” Clark said excitedly as if he actually believed they could sense it and he hadn’t just kicked her to give Jackson the impression they could.

Cora was angered by this point, not only by Clark’s belief that he could kick her but more so by his belief that they could both act like nothing had happened. She rounded on her brother. “You want to feel pain?” In the blink of an eye Clark found himself surrounded by flames. “You should have felt my pain when I was burning alive. You didn’t. You killed us.”

Clark’s eyes flew open with a start, his breathing heavy as he tried to calm himself down. The dream had been following the events exactly as his memory recalled them right up until the end. In reality, Clark and Cora had gotten into a typical sibling fight which had to be broken up by Mr and Mrs Whittemore, much to their own parents’ disappointment upon finding out. In his dreams, Cora had been angered enough to take the _‘you could have saved us’_ phrase she’d been haunting him with a step further.

_He_ killed them.

Clark couldn’t get that thought out of his head. He replayed it over and over until sunlight crept through his curtainless windows.

* * *

After Derek dropped him off in the high school parking lot, and Clark made sure to inform him that he’d find his own way home again after school, Clark approached the school doors already bored out of his mind. His third day at Beacon Hills High School was only just beginning and yet Clark felt like it had been weeks since his first day. It was odd how quickly something new could become old and mundane.

“You look shattered!” An English accent observed as Clark heard what could only be Jamie approaching him from behind.

Slowing down just longer enough to let Jamie catch up with him before returning to a normal walking speed, Clark glanced briefly at the boy. “Good morning to you too,” Clark returned the sarcastic comment. “What a way to greet a friend!”

“I’m only commenting on what I can see,” Jamie shrugged casually as Clark led the way to his own locker. With the first class starting imminently, the hallways were packed with students forcing Clark to weave around people and Jamie to frail behind him as he attempted not to get separated. “How much sleep did you get last night?”

“Not enough,” Clark responded through gritted teeth. He was one of those who, when tired, became really irritable. Jamie was not helping with that irritation.

“Was it nightmares?” Jamie inquired as Clark finally made it halfway down the hall and two his locker. Clark gave Jamie a sideways glance as inserted the combination to unlock his locker but gave him no response. “Oh! Was it Cora?” Jamie exclaimed and he actually sounded excited.

“Will you keep your voice down,” Clark hissed at him in frustration as his locker refused to open despite Clark triple checking he had put in the right combination. Clark began pulling on it in an attempt to release the locking mechanism by knocking it out of place. The thing was obviously old and stiff. “The last thing I need right now is to get a reputation as ‘the crazy new guy’!” Clark yanked on the lock again using more strength than he intended, only realising when the combination padlock flew off the locker and slid across the floor to the other side of the hallway.

Jamie stared at him, jaw dropped, “Mate, how strong are you?”

“It was old and damaged,” Clark hurried to make excuses, “I didn’t even pull it that hard.” Clark sighed, irritation rising even further as he was forced to empty the contents of his locker out into his bag. He knew better than to trust his fellow high school students not to steal anything from an unlocked locker. He was going to need to source a new padlock before he used his locker again.

“You weren’t the only one who didn’t get much sleep last night,” Jamie moved the conversation on without much argument as he watched Clark empty his belongings out of his locker. Clark wasn’t sure he could believe that the energetic guy next to him who was talking excitedly was trying to claim that he hadn’t got much sleep. “I was doing some research for you and get this; I don’t think you’re going crazy.” He paused and Clark couldn’t work out if he did it for dramatic effect or because he wanted Clark to respond. Nevertheless, Clark didn’t say anything, not appreciating Jamie’s levels of excitement. He was being haunted day and night by his dead sister and his supposed new friend was finding it fun. “I think you’re a medium.”

Clark slammed his locker door shut and got the satisfaction of making Jamie jump out of doing so. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You must have heard of mediums. They can see and talk to ghosts. They link our world with the spirit world,” Jamie explained. Clark just stared at him. He was going crazy and one of his friends _was_ crazy.

“Ghosts don’t exist,” Clark told him matter-of-factly.

“Then give me a valid reason why you keep seeing Cora,” Jamie challenged him.

Clark stared at him. Was he serious? “You gave me one yesterday. Something about my heart and my brain.”

“That was me spouting random nonsense to calm you down!” Jamie revealed, seeming determined to convince him that he was in fact a medium. “I didn’t actually believe it.”

“Okay. You want a valid reason?” Clark questioned defeatedly, getting more than fed up with the conversation and wanting to end it as soon as possible. Jamie nodded eagerly and waited expectantly. “I’m. Going. Crazy.” With that, Clark walked off deciding to head for his first lesson of the day. He didn’t care if he was early, he knew that Jamie didn’t have the same first class as him and he needed a break from the guy.

Jamie, however, was persistent; Clark had to give him that. The other boy ran after him down the hallway. “Clark, please! Just hear me out,” Jamie pleaded, his accent doing him more favours than Clark would like to admit. Since when was he the type of person to melt over an accent?

Clark stopped suddenly resulting in Jamie crashing into the back of him. He turned on the spot to face Jamie who was steadying himself after almost loosing his balance. “You’ve got thirty seconds,” Clark gave in, “Make it good.”

“Okay, well it’s really hard to get any verified information on this,” Jamie began hurriedly.

Clark rolled his eyes. “I wonder why,” he muttered sarcastically.

“A lot of this is speculation,” Jamie told him, either ignoring his interruption or choosing to ignore it. “But I think the reason why you’re only getting glimpses and nightmares is because your abilities are only just developing and it’s Cora’s attempts to break through and communicate with you. I think if you really concentrated, you might be able to talk to her.”

Jamie seemed confident with what he’d said, deciding not to use his full thirty seconds to attempt to convince Clark. The two boys stood staring at each other in the middle of the hallway. Jamie waited expectantly and nervously, eager to see if Clark was willing to accept what he had said. Clark stared at him, speechless. Their stand-off was interrupting by the school bell signifying the start of their first class. Without a word - not even sure what to _think,_ let alone _say_ \- Clark turned away from his friend and continued to make his way to his first class.

* * *

After very nearly falling asleep in his math class, only kept awake by Danny noticing and nudging him awake, Clark finally made it through his first two classes of the day. “You sure you’re up for this afternoon?” Danny asked as they made their way out of math class together. “You seem exhausted,” Danny commented, sounding genuinely concerned in a stark contrast to Jamie’s earlier brash remark.

Clark gave him an appreciative nod, “I’ll be fine. It won’t be as boring as Math so you won’t send me to sleep.”

“Great then I’m looking forward to it,” Danny responded with a smile. “Where are you headed now? Do you know where you’re going?”

“Believe it or not, I’m actually starting to figure out how to navigate this place,” Clark told him, “Besides, I’m on a free period now.”

“Same!” Danny responded. “Do you want to head to the library? I can talk you through some of the notes you missed.”

“Are you trying to send me to sleep again?” Clark responded jokingly.

Danny smiled as he considered that. “Maybe I’ll just email them to you,” he reasoned in the end. “Do you want to go some place and talk instead?”

“I actually have to speak to Kenneth,” Clark told him, feeling really bad for lying. From what Clark had seen of him, Danny seemed like a genuine and nice guy. Unlike Jackson, who certainly wasn’t on the best of terms with everyone, Danny didn’t seem to have any problems with anyone. Clark, however, didn’t know him well enough to trust him with the knowledge that he was going to see the school counsellor. “I’ll come find you after though.”

* * *

Clark took a reluctant step through the door of the counsellor’s office. As much as he really did not want to be there and was highly doubtful it was even going to help, he knew full well that Kenneth would check up on whether he attended and the last thing he needed was a teacher on his case. Talking of teachers, Clark could have sworn he recognised the woman sitting behind the desk. “You’re my French teacher,” Clark observed in confusion as he hovered by the closed door.

“That’s right,” Ms Morrell responded. “I also have a psychology degree and lots of experience in this field. So, Clark, why don’t you take a seat?” She drew his attention to the seats opposite her desk. Clark glanced at the door, briefly considering leaving and putting up with having two of his teachers on his case to let them help him. Instead, he decided to take a seat with the plan to convince Morrell that he hadn’t been feeling well, it was a one time thing and nothing had happened since. “Now, where do _you_ want to start?” She asked gently.

“I wasn’t feeling well yesterday. I think it was an hallucination. I feel better now,” Clark told her, keeping the details short. Too many details make a lie obvious.

Morrell didn’t say anything right away. Instead, her eyes flicked down to her notes and her lips pursed as her brown eyes scanned the page. In the silence, Clark’s hearing zoned onto the classroom next door where Stiles had been picked on to answer a question that clearly baffled him. Clark did his best to hide his smile as Morrell lifted her eyes back on to him. “Mr Kenneth reported that you told a fellow student that you’ve seen your sister everywhere for two days.”

“I was hallucinating for two days,” Clark shrugged in response.

If Morrell was getting irritated from his responses, she wasn’t showing it. She’d probably undergone some kind of training to hide irritation. “Do you really believe that, Clark?” She asked. Clark looked at her but didn’t respond. “I can’t help you if you don’t want my help.”

“How are you meant to help me if I’m going crazy?” Clark challenged her.

“I don’t think you’re going crazy, Clark,” Morrell insisted sounding genuine. Clark dropped his gaze down to his hands as he channelled his nerves into fidgeting with them. “If you talk to me, I can give you a legitimate explanation for what’s happening and then we can find ways to help you. But it has to come from you. You have to be willing to talk to me. Are you?”

Clark kept his gaze on his hands as he thought over his options. He could agree with Jamie’s medium theory which, even in a world of werewolves, sounded crazy or he could talk to his French teacher and get a scientific explanation. Slowly, he lifted his head up, his light brown eyes met hers and he nodded.

“Now, when you say you see your sister everywhere…” Morrell prompted carefully.

“She’s in my dreams. Every night,” Clark began to answer, shifting uncomfortably in his seat and he exposed his vulnerability. He hated feeling vulnerable. It highlighted weakness and weakness got people killed. Losing out on sleep and going crazy getting haunted by his sister could also get him killed so it was a lose-lose situation as far as he was concerned. “It’s getting to the point where I don’t want to sleep. Because I know she’ll be there. And when I do sleep, the nightmares wake me. But even then, when I’m awake, it doesn’t really end. I’ll see her walking down the hallways, or sat at a desk in class, or in the reflection of the vending machine, or we’ll drive past her on the way to school but then I’ll blink or turn around and it’s… it’s not actually her. It’s some stranger.”

“Does she ever try to say anything to you?” Morrell asked gently.

Clark nodded slowly, “Only in my dreams.”

“Can you make out what she’s saying?” Morrell prompted further.

Clark nodded again. “That I could have saved them,” he answered and swallowed deeply before adding, “That I killed them.”

“Do you believe that?” Morrell continued the questions as carefully and softly as she could manage.

Clark broke the eye contact, gazing out the window to his left but not at anything. The shapes out the window all blurred into one and he fought back tears forming in his eyes. “I was supposed to be there,” he told her, forcing his voice to stay level, “I wasn’t there. They died.”

“Clark. You’re not going crazy,” Morrell told him again. Clark reckoned it was an attempt to enforce that belief in his head. “I think your suffering from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.”

“PTSD? The thing soldiers get?” Clark questioned, confused as he turned his attention back to Morrell. He hadn’t been in any war zones recently.

“It’s not only soldiers who suffer from PTSD, Clark,” Morrell corrected him before making a quick note on her notepad and placing her pen down. Clark’s eyes switched to the pad, anxious to know what she had written about him. She regained his attention, however, when she started talking again. “It can affect anyone who experiences a traumatic event.” With Clark still obviously confused, Morrell expanded further making sure to pick her words carefully, “The fire, Clark. That was a traumatic event.”

“But I wasn’t there,” Clark pointed out, Morrell’s attempts to make it clearer not helping him.

“Not the fire itself,” Morrell corrected him again. “You lost eleven family members suddenly that day. And the way in which they died, your young imagination must have created some images.”

“But that was years ago,” Clark responded, not understanding why it was suddenly affecting him six years later.

“PTSD symptoms normally start after the soon after the event but in some cases it can take weeks, months or even years,” Morrell explained to him. “I think, in your case, it was triggered by returning to Beacon Hills. This town is filled with memories you have of your family. In New York, you could trick yourself into thinking they were safe here. You can’t do that when you’re here and they’re not.”

“So how do I stop it?” Clark asked determined to get his life back to somewhat-normal as quickly as possible.

“There’s no quick cure for this,” Morrell informed him much to his disappointment and frustration. Clark slumped back in his seat at that news. “We’ll work through it together. You’ll come, we’ll talk and we’ll put some strategies into place. Okay?” Clark simply nodded in response. “I suggest two sessions a week to begin with. Wednesdays at this time and…” Morrell trailed off, going back to her notes where she appeared to have a copy of Clark’s schedule, “Mondays before lunch.”

* * *

Clark left the guidance counsellor’s office feeling better than he had upon entering; at least he knew that he wasn’t going crazy. Morrell’s plan was talking and strategies, Clark had his own plan; ignore Cora and find a way to move past the trauma though he realised that was a lot easier said than done.

“I’m glad to see you went.”

The sudden and unexpected voice pulled Clark straight out of his own thoughts and he did his best not to appear startled as his eyes locked onto the figure of his history teacher, Mr Kenneth. The bemused smirk on Kenneth’s face suggested that he had not, in fact, covered his surprise particularly well. Clark was not used to people being able to sneak up on him. Since his enhanced hearing had kicked in when he was younger, he could always hear them coming. Cora had him so distracted he was starting to ignore his senses. With the Argents around, that was something he really could not afford to do.

“Yeah, well the sooner things go back to normal the better,” Clark commented, hoping to end the conversation as quickly as possible. He’d already spent twenty minutes talking with Ms Morrell and he’d told Danny he was just going to have a quick word with Kenneth. Clark was very worried that Danny was going to get a very wrong idea of what was going on.

“What’s normal?” Kenneth responded, giving Clark a brief moment of believing his history teacher knew more about his not-so-normal life than he wanted him to know. “Everyone’s so different so how do you define normal?” Kenneth philosophised as Clark eradicated his earlier fears. He was getting paranoid.

“I would define it as not being able to see my dead sister,” Clark returned simply, not in the mood for philosophy. “Now, if you don’t mind, I said I’d meet a friend.”

* * *

The school day passed by eventually and Clark headed out to the lacrosse field to meet up with Jackson and Danny. The two boys had beaten him there and Danny kindly gave him his spare Lacrosse stick to borrow for the rest of the week. Taking the stick from Danny, Clark could definitely feel the difference to the old, knackered one he had borrowed from the school on Monday. The three spread out into a triangle, starting simply by passing the ball to each other and increasing the distance as they went.

“You both think I’m ridiculous for being suspicious of McCall,” Jackson spoke up as he passed the ball to Clark. Clark received it well and he and Danny shared a ‘here we go again’ look before Clark launched the ball in Danny’s general direction. His passing wasn’t as accurate as Jackson’s or Danny’s, but Danny successfully caught it after taking a step forward. “But I could have sworn I heard Jamie going on about ghosts to you this morning.”

As Jackson effortlessly received the ball from Danny, Clark hoped that that was all Jamie had heard. He hadn’t even noticed Jackson’s presence so he hoped that the other guy had simply been walking past to catch Jamie’s words. He didn’t need Jackson, of all people, knowing he was seeing Cora around. “What can I say? All my friends are going crazy,” Clark shrugged jokingly.

At that comment, Jackson launched the ball with speed and power knowing that, with the short distance between them, Clark wouldn’t have the reflexes to catch and stop the ball. In payback for his playful crazy comment, Clark would have to travel to the other side of the field to collect the ball. Clark had to fight against his instinctive reflexes to catch the ball which went zooming past his head, knowing that it was doing just that which had gotten Scott under the watchful and suspicious eye of Jackson.

Clark glanced around to see the ball drop to the ground near the goalmouth. “Really?” He questioned with a smile as he began taking backward steps towards the goal and the ball. “How childish!”

“Lacrosse isn’t standing still and throwing balls. You have to run as well!” Jackson made up a terrible excuse as Clark began jogging towards the ball that he couldn’t help but laugh. He scooped the ball up using his stick and then started the jog back to the other two boys. Clark increased his speed as he gained on the boys and saw the satisfying moment that something clicked in Jackson’s head and the realisation reached his face. Too late.

Clark launched the ball through the air, past Jackson and watched as it landed near the goal on Jackson’s side of the field. “Go on then. Get running!” Clark returned with a smile.

“Who’s being childish now?” Jackson retorted before leaving to fetch the ball.

Danny watched the back and forth with an amused look on his face, “Because this is definitely helping you practice so you can make the team.”

* * *

After an hour of practice in which Clark made significant progress in his ability to play Lacrosse without resorting to perks of being a werewolf, the three boys had worked up an appetite. By the time Jackson’s Porsche pulled into the restaurant parking lot, Clark was more than hungry. Danny had followed behind in his own car and the three walked through the doors together.

Its style was very retro American diner. With a red and white theme except the black and white checked floor, bright lights, eating booths and stools set up at the counter, Clark almost felt like he had stepped back in time. They even had a jukebox tucked away in the far corner of the diner. Clark followed as Jackson led the way to the booth in the corner right next to the jukebox. At first, Clark assumed that Jackson sat in the same place every time he visited. It was only when Clark got nearer that he realised they wouldn’t be eating alone. Lydia was already sat there, excitedly and affectionately greeting Jackson as Clark’s eyes drifted to her right; Allison.

After Argent’s threat - the weapon he’d held in his hands at the time making it rather convincing - the previous night, Clark had done well to avoid her in school. This was helped more by their schedules ensuring that they only had one class together that day but Clark had played his part and avoided all eye contact with her for the entirety of the lesson. He was certainly not avoiding eye contact with her as he stared at her in the diner.

Clark slipped into the booth, taking a seat next to Jackson which was also the furthest he could possibly be from Allison whilst still sitting in the booth - if Argent went by, he could have at least argued that. He tugged on Jackson’s shirt, pulling him away from Lydia and gaining his full attention. “I thought it was just the three of us?”

“It was,” Jackson responded as Lydia, Allison and Danny delved into their own conversation. “But Lydia heard about it at lunch and we thought it would be a good idea for them to come too.” Jackson didn’t see the problem, not that Clark expected him to. Even Allison didn’t know that there was a problem. It was his ridiculous life causing all the problems as usual.

“Oh, Clark!” Allison interrupted her conversation with Lydia and Danny when Jackson pulled away from Clark, his movement announcing that their individual conversation was over. “How’s your brother doing?” She asked, the genuine concern he heard in her voice making Clark instantly feel guilty for lying. In his eagerness to stay on her father’s good side, the best excuse Clark could make up for having to leave so suddenly was that Derek had been in a car accident.

“Err, he’s fine. Recovering,” Clark answered, knowing full well that if one of his friends was a werewolf they would be calling him up on his lies instantly.

“What happened?” Lydia inquired, glancing between Allison and Clark as she, Jackson and Danny had no idea what they were talking about. Clark hadn’t mentioned it to the boys as it hadn’t actually happened and he hadn’t been expecting any follow up questions from Allison since his aim was to avoid her.

“His brother was in a car accident yesterday. He broke his leg. Clark went to the hospital to see him,” Allison filled the others in.

“But he dropped you off at school this morning, didn’t he?” Jackson obliviously called him out on his lies as Clark pretended to take a great interest in the diner’s menu. He was well and truly screwed. Jackson must have arrived at school in time to see Derek drive off in his pristine Camaro and then followed him into school to overhear Jamie’s talk about ghosts.

“Why would you lie then Clark?” He heard Allison question.

Clark slowly lifted his gaze over the top of the menu to see all four sets of eyes on him. He sighed before placing the menu down. His next lie was going to have to be closer to the truth. “Your dad doesn’t like me,” Clark revealed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “In fact, he doesn’t want us hanging out.”

“Why would he say that? He doesn’t even know you to decide he doesn’t like you. I hardly know you,” Allison responded, not appearing to believe him. Which was somewhat ironic considering how quickly she believed the lie twenty-four hours ago. Twenty-four hours later, she was sceptical of the truth.

“That misunderstanding we had?” Clark hinted towards it deciding Jackson, Lydia and Danny didn’t need all the details. “It’s not exactly the best of first impressions. And he didn’t believe it was a misunderstanding. He thought I was lying about being gay to cover my intentions,” he lied, hoping the sudden wave of information would stop Allison from noticing the holes in the lie. It was far from watertight considering he’d had to make up on the spot. Watertight fast lies were not his forte as proven by the ‘Derek in hospital’ lie.

“That’s certainly not a lie. Clark spent _twenty-five minutes_ of a free period today talking to Mr Kenneth,” Danny interrupted the awkward conversation to comment playfully. The tension in the booth dropped with that and proved to work well as a distraction at Clark’s expense.

“The young, hot history teacher?” Lydia clarified, no doubt to carry the insinuation further. Clark very much doubted that, with half of the school year already gone, she didn’t know who he was.

“I’d hardly say young!” Clark argued.

“He’s hardly old,” Allison contributed to the discussion, everyone apparently willing to forget about the awkward conversation to discuss the history teacher.

“Yeah, since when is twenty-four old?” Lydia agreed, receiving weird looks from everyone else when she provided specific details of his age. “My mom works at the school, remember?” Clark, who hadn’t had many conversations with Lydia, hadn’t known that but everyone else simply nodded in response.

“In the context you’re all implying, twenty-three is old for a fifteen year old,” Clark argued his point.

Jackson scoffed, “You’re practically sixteen.”

“Don’t take my youth away from me! I’ve still got a month!” Clark protested with a laugh. “And that wouldn’t change anything anyway.”

“You can still dream,” Lydia pointed out.

“I think my dreams are a bit preoccupied at the moment,” Clark responded and somehow managed to make the words come out light-heartedly despite the bitterness he felt inside.

“Ohhh, you’ve got your eye on someone!” Lydia deducted excitedly. She was completely on the wrong lines but when Clark went over what he had said in his head, he realised exactly how she had assumed that.

“He was staring at McCall at Lacrosse on Monday,” Jackson piped up, oh-so-helpfully. Out of the corner of his eye, Clark saw his friend smirking beside him.

“No I wasn’t!” Clark protested immediately. That had been yet another misunderstanding stemmed from his inability to be totally honest to anyone because he was born a werewolf. Sometimes, more so recent, Clark wished his whole family had been normal.

“Allison’s snapped him up anyway,” Lydia commented, relieving Clark of the spotlight and throwing Allison into it instead as all heads turned to the new girl.

“It’s just one date,” Allison shrugged, her cheeks flashing red at the sudden attention. Clark chuckled lightly to himself. Of all the guys she could have chosen in school, she chose one of just two werewolves. Argent would love that.


	7. Second Trial

By Friday lunch time, Clark felt well and truly settled in. He’d had at least two lessons of each of his classes allowing him to get his head around exactly what his classmates were learning about - which in some cases was the same as his old school and in others very different - and begin to get used to all his new and different teachers. He hadn’t had a history class with Mr Kenneth since the beginning of the week but Clark had seen him around the school and in between classes more than he had seen any of his other teachers. He suspected that the guy was keeping a close eye on him, worried perhaps that he might self-destruct. As much as Clark wanted to, he couldn’t blame his teacher for that concern. Clark had stuck to his plan of ignoring her but it didn’t stop his sister from suddenly appearing and just as quickly disappearing during everyday events and it certainly didn’t help the nightmares.

Clark was sure that his situation wasn’t helped by Laura still being missing. That only added stress to his load. And since Derek was insistent on finding her himself and not getting the police involved, Clark had to act like everything was normal in school; as if his older sister - who had taken over as a mother figure in his life when he was ten-years-old - hadn’t vanished of the face of the earth. Allison was the only person he’d mentioned it to and she seemed to had completely forgotten for she hadn’t mentioned it again, perhaps distracted by the misunderstanding and the following lies that Clark had fed her. It left Derek as the only person that Clark could actually talk about Laura to but even he was reluctant. Derek had never been the best when it came to opening up and expressing feelings but any attempts Clark made to discuss their Laura situation was quickly ended or moved on to Scott.

Scott was a whole different problem. Clark’s childhood friendship with Jackson had thrust him straight into the popular crowd. He was sat at a lunch table surrounded by people who he had come, over the week, to call his friends; Danny, Jamie, Kyle, Jackson, Lydia and Allison (who’d caught him before leaving the diner and pointed out that her dad doesn’t know who she hangs out with at school). Clark had quickly realised that Scott, despite being on the Lacrosse team with a lot of these guys, was not so popular. It wasn’t that he was _unpopular_ ; he just appeared to keep his head down and be attached to Stiles. With Jackson’s friends all being surprisingly welcoming and talkative, Clark struggled to find the time to have a proper conversation with Scott.

“Hey,” Jackson tapped Clark on the side of his arm to gain Clark’s attention and lift his eyes from the tray of food he was staring at to the people who were all staring at him expectantly. Clark’s eyes shifted between them uneasily, feeling like he had missed something. Allison was giving him the same look as she had during the entire ‘why are you acting weird’ farce before their misunderstanding. Yeah, he had missed something. From his confused look, Jackson appeared to gather that he had not been listening at all. “I said, are you sure you can’t come to the party tonight? Even Allison is coming now.”

Clark looked at Allison in surprise. After meeting her father he had quickly drawn the dots that it wasn’t a coincidence that ‘family night’ fell on a full moon. He had no doubts that it was Argent’s way of keeping Allison safe from the out of control werewolves running around under the control of their primal instincts. “Wait. What happened to family night?”

“She got herself a date,” Lydia answered for Allison and was looking at Clark as if he should have known the answer to that question already. Clark didn’t understand; he’d only heard talk about Allison having a date once before, at the diner, and that was with Scott.

_Oh shit._

“Scott’s going to the party tonight?” Clark checked to make sure he was following properly. A house full of partying teenagers was one of the last places Scott should be for his first full moon as a werewolf.

“Literally everyone’s going to be there,” Lydia bragged and Clark should have known that, when Lydia’s throwing the party, it would be an open invitation. Clark had no doubt that people from Freshmen to Seniors would be showing up to Lydia’s ‘the bigger, the better’ party. Those people could wind up getting a whole lot more than they bargained for.

“Which is why you’ve got to come,” Jackson encouraged.

“You’ve survived a week at Beacon Hills High. Treat yourself with a party,” Danny joined in the encouragement.

At the same time, Clark caught sight of Allison waving with a small smile on her face. He followed her eyes to find Scott sat at the other side of the cafeteria, Stiles with him as usual. Scott was smiling as he waved too, completely oblivious to the danger he was going to put her in by going to the party with her that night. Clark, however, was not so oblivious. He turned back to Jackson and Lydia who were eagerly awaiting his response, “If McCall’s there, I’m there.” If things went the way he and Derek planned, no werewolves would be at the party.

The bell rang, signalling the end of lunch and the beginning of the final period of the day which also happened to be a free period for Clark. It gave him a chance to phone Derek and adapt their plans for the night with the new revelation that Scott was planning on attending a party. As the cafeteria emptied out, Clark watched his friends trickle out and head for their final class before the weekend. With the cafeteria buzz gone, it was quiet enough for him to be able to make a phone call. As he pulled out his phone, the only thing stopping him from calling Derek was that Jackson hadn’t moved from his seat next to him.

Jackson’s blue eyes were alert and spotted Clark’s phone in his hand almost instantly. “What are you doing?” He demanded, snatching the phone from him. Clark really needed to work on getting a tighter grip on his phone.

“I’ve got a free period. I’m making a phone call,” Clark answered simply, confused by his friend’s behaviour. The school had a ‘we don’t want to see or hear them’ attitude towards cell phones but Jackson didn’t strike Clark as someone who overly cared about the rules. “There’s no teachers around. Since when we’re you a stickler to the rules.”

“We’ve both got a free period right before the final try-outs for the Lacrosse team. We planned to practise, remember?” Jackson reminded him. “If you want to make the team then for this hour, I need your concentration, I need effort and you need no distractions.” Clark knew that Jackson was talented at Lacrosse and assumed he had gotten his captaincy based on that. His latest comment suggested there was a little more to it than that. Clark was quickly distracted from that thought, however, when Jackson pocketed his phone.

Clark opened his mouth to protest but Jackson had already gotten up and was leaving the cafeteria, no doubt headed for the changing rooms to collect their gear. Clark sighed before giving up, knowing from younger years that when Jackson had his mind set on something, he could be very stubborn. He and Derek would have plenty of time to adapt their plans according to Scott’s about the final Lacrosse trials.

* * *

An hour of Lacrosse practice was tiring, Clark and Jackson mutually concluded as they made their way back to the school building to fetch some water. They’d each taken a bottle of water out to the field with them but had severely underestimated how much they would drink in the space of sixty minutes of exercise, eager to get out and start at the time.

“You’ve definitely improved since Monday,” Jackson commented optimistically as they approached the doors to the building. “And you did decent on Monday. I’m sure you’re going to make it.” Clark knew he only did decent on Monday because he technically cheated when using his werewolf abilities. He was determined to get through on merit alone for the second try-outs, regardless of what Scott did.

“We’ll see,” Clark shrugged, not exactly mirroring Jackson’s optimism. Things hadn’t really been going well for him since he had returned to Beacon Hills. He had a feeling Lacrosse trials were going to follow suit.

As they entered through the doors into the slightly eerie empty corridor, Clark had never been so glad to see a school water fountain. Pulling the cap off his water bottle, he hastily started filling it up. The sound of a locker opening further down the hallway made the scene a little less eerie as they were no longer alone in the normally crammed space. Clark caught Jackson’s blue eyes light up before setting off down the hallway purposefully. Clark rolled his eyes, making the assumption that his friend had spotted Lydia down the hall and maintained his attention on finishing to fill his water bottle.

Clark was screwing the cap back on to his water bottle when he heard a locker door slam shut. “Alright, little man. How about you tell me where you’re getting your juice,” Jackson’s demanding tone came soon after. Not Lydia. Clark turned down the hallway to find Jackson face to face with Scott. He knew he shouldn’t be surprised at the turn of events as Jackson had been obsessing over Scott’s sudden improvement all week; he was only surprised that it hadn’t happened sooner. It appeared he wasn’t the only one who had struggled to get away from friends to have a word with Scott.

Clark sighed as he set off down the corridor towards the two boys. Scott was staring at Jackson blankly, completely lost with no idea what Jackson was talking about. “What?” Scott questioned, startled.

“Where. Are. You. Getting. Your. Juice?” Jackson repeated the question extremely slowly, emphasising each syllable in a mocking attempt to get through to Scott. Clark had reached them both by this point but stayed quiet, leaning against the lockers on the other side of the hallway, interested to see how Scott explained himself. Did he even realise there was something going on with him or was he in total denial.

Despite Jackson’s slower repetition of the question, Scott still looked slightly confused. “My mom does all the grocery shopping,” he answered naively.

Clark scoffed at that response, dropping his gaze to the floor and shaking his head in total disbelief. _This_ guy was really chosen by the mysterious alpha to be a werewolf? Jackson, meanwhile, was so clouded by his anger towards Scott for posing as a threat to his spotlight on the Lacrosse team that he missed Scott’s honest confusion. Clark could smell the surge of anger radiating off Jackson as his friend made the assumption that Scott dared to mock him. “Now, listen, McCall! You’re going to tell me exactly what it is and who you’re buying it from because there is no way in _hell_ you’re kicking ass on the field like that without some kind of chemical boost!”

The moment that the realisation crossed Scott’s face was clear and obvious to spot - unless you’re Jackson. “Oh you mean _steroids,_ ” Scott finally got it, his gaze momentarily dropping to the floor and his eyebrows furrowed, deep in thought. He looked back up at Jackson, a little more confident. “Are you on steroids?” He challenged.

Until those four little words, Jackson had been doing well at controlling his temper. In a blink of an eye that control was gone and Jackson had Scott pushed up against the lockers. As much as Scott seemed slightly idiotic, Clark was ever so glad that he’d been the one bitten and not Jackson. Jackson’s anger control was bad enough without the effects of a full moon. “What the hell is going on with you McCall!” Jackson demanded angrily as Clark decided he ought to step in. The last thing he needed was Scott getting angered.

Clark pushed himself off the lockers and placed a strong grip on Jackson’s shoulder, receiving nothing more than a sideways glance from his friend. “Jackson. Let him go. It’s not worth it.” Clark got a glare from Jackson in response to his interruption but the transfer of some of his anger from Scott onto Clark made him release his grip on Scott.

“What’s going on with me?” Scott’s repetition of Jackson’s question interrupted the stare-off of the other two boys. Both sets of eyes instead turned to Scott, Jackson eager for the truth and Clark hesitant as to exactly what Scott was about to say. “You really want to know? Well so would I! Because I can see, hear and smell things that I shouldn’t be able to see, hear and smell! I do things that should be impossible, I’m sleepwalking three miles into the middle of the words and I’m pretty much convinced that I’m totally out of my freaking mind!” It was somewhat comforting to Clark to hear that he wasn’t the only one who had felt like they were going crazy all week. Scott sounded frustrated by the confusing situation he found himself in and the lack of answers, making Clark realise that his Alpha had bitten him and then left him to work everything out for himself. Clark frowned, that wasn’t normal.

Meanwhile, Jackson’s anger had surged again at what he still believed to be Scott mocking him. “You think you’re funny, don’t you, McCall?” He sneered in anger. “I know you’re hiding something. I’m going to find out what it is. I don’t care how long it takes.” After adding more problems to Clark and Derek’s growing list of problems to deal with - which, considering they hadn’t been back in Beacon Hills for even a week, was getting pretty long already - Jackson stormed off down the hallway.

“Scott, I think we need to talk,” Clark told him. He couldn’t let the other teenager wander cluelessly off into his first full moon with no idea what was happening to him. The only problem Clark faced was how to explain the situation in a way that Scott would believe. ‘You’re a werewolf’ was hardly the most believable explanation for what Scott was currently experiencing and revealing his werewolf identity in a form of proof could very easily scare the guy off.

“Clark!” Jackson shouted down the hallway from where he was stood at the water fountain, filling his own bottle up and interrupting Clark’s train of thought as he attempted to find the right words to say to Scott. “We need to get to the try-outs.”

Clark sighed and turned back to Scott as he started taking backward steps in Jackson’s direction. “There’s an explanation for everything that’s going on with you. I’ll tell you everything after Lacrosse,” he promised before turning on his heels and walking to re-join Jackson, leaving Scott stood on his own at his locker once again.

* * *

“What the hell was that?” Jackson demanded as he and Clark made the return trip to the Lacrosse field, refilled bottles of water in hand.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Clark returned, not fazed by Jackson’s frustration. “I get it, Jackson. You’ve worked hard to get to this position on the Lacrosse team and suddenly, in the space of two weeks, Scott gets so good that he threatens to take that from you. I get that that seems impossible and I get that you want to find out how. But you’ve got to be sensible about it! Don’t risk losing your position as Captain over it. Pinning a guy to a locker because they could possibly be better than you isn’t going to strike a teacher as captain behaviour, is it?”

Jackson didn’t say anything in response as they reached the field. He huffed, pulled his helmet on and jogged onto the field to join in with warm ups despite the sixty minute practice the two of them had had. Clark stopped by the bleachers and sighed; his friend’s determination to find out what was going on with Scott was a big problem and one he was going to have to sort out by himself. Telling Derek would no doubt make things worse.

“What’s up with him?” Jamie asked, making his presence on the bleachers next to where Clark was stood known. Clark hadn’t even noticed him; he really needed to stop getting caught up in his own thoughts so much.

“Scott.” Clark answered simply and Jamie accepted the response, no more questions asked because when it had come to Jackson’s irritation that week, that one name pretty much covered it. “I imagine it’s only going to end up worse after this,” Clark commented as he spotted Scott arriving at the field and reaching a stop a few feet from Clark and Jamie where he proceeded to sort his gear.

“Don’t worry about either of them,” Jamie instructed, his gloved hand patting Clark on the shoulder. “Focus on getting yourself on this team. Not on Jackson, not on Scott and not on ghosts.” Clark rolled his eyes. Despite filling Jamie in on his first meeting with Morrell, the other boy had still insisted on his own theory. “Just play Lacrosse and forget about everything else.” Whilst Clark appreciated the pep talk, it was a lot easier said than done considering everything he had going on. Overwhelmed was starting to become an understatement.

“Scott! Scott, wait up!” Stiles’ frantic shouts caught Clark’s attention as Jamie left him to join in with the warm ups of the majority of the other players. Clark turned to see Stiles running frantically up to Scott in a manner that was almost comical. If that was how Stiles always ran, Clark could see why he was on the bench as opposed to first line.

“Stiles, I’m playing the first elimination, man. Can it wait?” Scott showed no interest in what Stiles could possibly have to tell him that had made him run so ridiculously. Scott appeared so eager to play Lacrosse that he didn’t even wait for an answer from Stiles, making a move to head to the field.

“Just hold on, okay?” Stiles stopped Scott and grabbed him by the shoulders to gain eye contact and Scott’s full attention. “I overheard my dad on the phone. The fiber analysis came back from the lab in LA. They found animal hairs on the body from the woods!”

Scott can’t have been listening for he showed absolutely zero interest in what Stiles had said, picking up his lacrosse stick and helmet from the ground before Stiles had even finished speaking. Jackson, apparently, wasn’t the only one intently focused on something. Scott was equally intently focused on making first line. “Stiles, I’ve got to go,” Scott dismissed his friend, hurrying off to join the other players on the field.

“Wait! No! Scott! You’re not going to believe what the animal was!” Stiles called as he ran after his friend who continued to pay no attention to him. Stiles gave up chasing him after a few steps, stopping right next to Clark. Clark glanced at Stiles who was too busy staring after Scott to notice him. Whilst Stiles hadn’t managed to gain Scott’s attention, he’d certainly gained Clark’s. “It was a wolf,” Stiles finished his thought in a low mutter, left talking to himself but Clark caught it.

That wasn’t good. With him and Derek being the only werewolves he knew of in Beacon Hills other than the Alpha, that put Clark’s suspicions straight onto the Alpha. Then again, if the Alpha had turned Scott and then left him to it, how many others could the Alpha had done that to? How many newly turned werewolves were running around with no control and killing anyone they came across? Clark couldn’t help but wonder exactly what he and his brother had returned to.

“Hale!” Clark found himself being pulled out of his thoughts for the second time in the matter of minutes. He snapped back to reality to find that Coach had gathered up all of the players whilst he stood there like an idiot. “Get over here!”

Clark jogged over, muttering a hurried apology as he found a place near Kyle and Jamie in the little huddle that the players had formed around Coach. “Okay, you know how this goes,” Coach began although technically Clark didn’t as he’d never before attempted to make the Beacon Hills High School Lacrosse team. As some of the players around him nodded, Clark knew better than to correct him. “If you don’t make the cut, you’re most likely sitting on the bench for the rest of the season. You make the cut? You _play._ Your parents are proud. Your girlfriend loves ya!” Coach shook the helmet of the player nearest to him as Clark noted another part of Coach’s speech that didn’t apply to him. “Everything else is, uh… cream cheese. Now, get out there and show me whatcha got! Come on!”

The players dispersed, spreading out onto the field whilst whooping, cheering and hyping each other up. Having been placed on Jackson’s team for the elimination game, Clark followed him out on to the field. Unfortunately - which only summed up Clark’s luck that week - Scott had been placed on the opposing team. Clark only had to glance at Jackson to see his eyes light up under his helmet at the opportunity he had to knock Scott down a few pegs.

Scott’s team gained possession of the ball from the face off and started by putting a few simple passes together to settle into the game and give each player some early passes. Scott, upon receiving the ball from a team mate, appeared to have a different idea to the rest of the team. He started to run down the field, heading towards the goal that Clark and his team were defending. Upon reaching his first opponent on his run, Clark watched Scott almost pull off a nifty spin to get past the player only to be tackled hard from Jackson and knocked to the ground. As Jackson stood over Scott, taking his helmet off to smirk smugly at the guy on the ground, Clark caught the scent of Scott’s increasing anger.

Suddenly, the ball was flying towards Clark and he promptly moved his stick to catch it. Clark looked up to find Jamie and Lahey in front of him. Imitating Scott’s earlier attempt at a spin, Clark successfully pulled it off to get away from Jamie without getting tackled to the ground immediately after. Lahey was his next barrier and had earlier that week watched continuously as Clark had failed his attempts at feints to get past Kyle. Clark made a move to go to the right of Lahey then paused, as if about to attempt the feint move. Lahey took the bait, stepping to the left and allowing Clark to continue his run to the right.

Getting past Lahey, Clark could hear Scott gaining on him from behind. With Clark determined to prove he could make the team without his enhanced abilities and Scott determined to make the team, somewhat unaware of his new abilities, Clark knew he had no chance of outrunning Scott. Clark spotted Jackson to his right in plenty of space and open on goal if he had the ball. Clark launched the ball in Jackson’s direction who caught it with ease and guided the ball into the back of the net.

Clark ran up to Jackson who was smiling and the two high-fived, celebrating together. “Told you this was your kind of game,” Jackson pointed out, happy to be proven right.

They were making their way to recommence the game with a face-off when Clark heard something behind him that made him stop in his tracks. “Way to go, Clark!” He breathed in shakily. He knew that voice but it couldn’t be. Slowly, he turned around, locating the source of the voice behind the goal that Jackson had just scored in. Cora was stood there, cheering, clapping and chanting as clearly as the students on the bleachers.

“Cora?” Clark muttered in disbelief. He’d almost gotten used to seeing her around but _hearing_ her outside of his dreams was a whole other level.

“Hale! We’ve got a game to finish!” Coach yelled at him causing Clark to glance over to the sideline where the man was stood, whistle in hand. When Clark turned back to the goal, Cora had gone.

_Focus on getting yourself on this team._

Jamie’s earlier words floated into his head. He shook all thoughts on Cora out of his head, taking Jamie’s advice. He’d worry about that after the game. Focused once again, Clark jogged over to his starting position. Jackson was taking the face off for their team, up against no other than Scott. Both appeared to be taking it rather literally, staring at each other as they braced themselves for the whistle. The anger was still radiating off Scott from Jackson’s earlier tackle and Clark knew that shortly after the whistle went he’d be able to smell a similar scent of anger on Jackson.

Coach blew his whistle and Scott had the ball in his possession before Jackson even had a chance to react. Clark observed from the other side of the field as Scott took off down the left hand side of the field, Jackson chasing after him. Scott dodged the first challenge with ease and evaded the following three like they were nothing, topped off by an impressive flip over three players and scoring through Danny’s legs.

At the impossible scene, the crowds cheering got louder and the players all flocked around Scott to celebrate with him, patting him on the shoulders to congratulate him as Scott pumped the air with his fists. Clark decided against joining in with the celebrations, knowing full well that Scott would not be celebrating when the effects of the full moon hit him. Jackson, of course, also stayed out of the celebrations, glaring in Scott’s general direction - not that he could actually see the guy amongst the swarm of other players.

* * *

Sitting on a bench near the school parking lot, Clark was alone, concerned, bored and irritated. After successfully making the school Lacrosse team, everything had gone downhill from there. Scott, so elated at making first line for the first time, had completely forgotten Clark’s promise to explain things to him and left school rather quickly in his celebrations and eagerness to get ready for his ‘date’ with Allison.

Clark wouldn’t be concerned had he filled Derek in on Scott’s plans for the night but Jackson had only returned his phone after the try-outs. With Derek picking him up, Clark hadn’t bothered calling him deciding instead to fill him in in person. Derek, however, was nearing forty-five minutes late and after attempting to call him after waiting around for twenty minutes, Clark realised that Derek had chosen to get him back for wasting an hour of his time on Monday. “Yeah, idiot. Choose the night of the full moon to get your payback,” Clark had muttered to himself upon connecting those dots.

He was seriously regretting not following Derek’s advice to befriend Scott. Or at least get his phone number. Then, at least, he’d be able to warn him no matter how crazy or ridiculous he sounded over the phone as opposed to sitting around doing nothing.

“Did you hear me?”

Clark swallowed deeply when he heard that voice again. He had put it down to adrenaline and getting caught up in the sport. He’d been sitting down for half an hour. He couldn’t put it down to adrenaline anymore. He stood up and turned around slowly and found himself face to face with his dead twin, only separated by a bench. It was the first time he properly took the sight in. His brain had aged her up with him, despite her dying when they were both nearly ten-years-old, but it was unmistakably her. She was still shorter than him with her long brown hair and they still shared the same shade of brown eyes.

“You’re not real,” He said out loud though he was talking more to himself than her. “It’s an hallucination. You can’t be here.”

“I am here, Clark,” Cora insisted.

“No. No, no, no. You’re not,” Clark argued, shaking his head as he continued to deny it. Why was his brain doing this to him? “It’s hallucination. It’s, it’s a symptom.”

“Will you stop freaking out on me!” Cora exclaimed. “This is just as weird for me. Maybe more so. I died, trapped in a burning building, lungs full of smoke. Then there was _nothing._ And then I start getting these snippets of you but you’re older than I remember and now suddenly I can talk to you and so I think I should be more freaked out than you!”

“No, wait, hold on. Are you saying Jamie was right?” Clark gaped at her, trying to get his head around the information she had thrown at him. “Are you saying you’re a _ghost_?”

“I don’t know what I am! That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I don’t know any more than you do,” Cora returned unhelpfully. If he really was seeing ghosts, he was hoping said ghosts would come with a manual and instructions.

Clark’s eyes dropped down to the bench in between them, an idea suddenly forming in his head. “Walk through it!” He instructed, pointing to the bench frantically. If Cora could do what he was thinking it was going to be cool. It would also lead to lots of questions but it would be cool in the short-term.

Cora stared at him as if he had gone crazy, “What?”

“Ghosts can walk through things, right? Like walls and closed doors and people and _benches_ ,” Clark responded excitedly, indicating towards the bench again. “So do it! Walk through it!”

Cora folded her arms, remaining routed to the spot, “This isn’t going to work.”

“So you’re not a ghost?”

“I’ve told you! I don’t know what I am!”

“Then try it.”

“And look like an idiot when I can’t?”

“Pretty sure I’m the only one who can see you.”

“We don’t even know that for sure!”

Clark put his arms out wide, drawing her attention to the empty parking lot behind him, “There’s no one around!”

Cora huffed. “Fine,” she gave in, defeated. Clark grinned at her as he watched closely. Cora took a hesitant step forward before deciding to go for it and broke into a run, passing straight through the bench and joining Clark on the other side of it.

Clark leapt into the air in celebration. “Yes! That was awesome.”

“So what? You can see ghosts now?” Cora questioned him.

“Well, I wouldn’t say _ghosts_ considering it’s just you,” Clark corrected.

“For now.”

“That’s not ominous at all,” Clark muttered sarcastically.

“I’m just saying, maybe this is the start of you discovering ghost-seeing abilities,” Cora theorised.

“Is that even a thing?” Clark questioned. He’d been so sceptical of Jamie’s theory because he’d never heard of anyone being able to see ghosts.

“I don’t know,” Cora responded unsurely. “Maybe it’s just you?”


	8. Stranded

When Derek pulled into the virtually empty Beacon Hills High School parking lot with three missed calls on his phone, he had been fully expecting immediate car door slamming and an annoyed younger brother’s glare. Instead, he pulled into the lot in time to see Clark randomly jumping for joy and proceeding to have a conversation… with nobody. He knew his brother had been lying to him about his nightmares but the action in front of him was even more concerning.

Having seen enough, Derek pushed the horn and the sudden, loud noise startled Clark who quickly looked for, and found, the source of the sound. Clark marched over to the car and Derek received the car door slamming and annoyed younger brother’s glare that he had been expecting instantly upon arrival. “Seriously?” Clark asked as he chucked his bag onto the back seat.

“What were you doing?” Derek asked in return, an eyebrow raised as he waited for a good explanation for the scene he had just witnessed.

“What was _I_ doing?” Clark repeated the question in utter disbelief. “You’re the one messing around and making me wait around for you so you can get your childish payback. It’s the full moon tonight. It’s hardly the time. You were the one who was going on about being serious!”

Derek wasn’t sure if the rant was an attempt of Clark’s to distract him from the craziness he had seen but he wasn’t going to drop it until he got some answers. Ignoring the rant, he pressed again, “What was that?” He added a head tilt towards the bench Clark had been near to ensure they were on the right lines.

Clark glanced nervously out the windscreen and at the bench before looking back to Derek. “You saw that?” He questioned, receiving a nod of confirmation from his brother in response. Clark sighed. “This friend of mine is trying to get me to join the theatre club. Not that I would! But in my utter boredom, I decided to attempt one of the scenes.”

After registering no change in Clark’s heartbeat, Derek accepted that explanation and turned the key in the ignition, starting the car engine. Clark made sure to put his seatbelt on before Derek made it out of the parking lot. “We’ve got a few problems,” Clark confessed as Derek pulled out the parking lot, hitting the road with his usual speed.

“A _few_?” Derek repeated with a sideways glance in Clark’s direction. His word choice did not fill him with confidence.

“A _lot_ of problems.” Clark corrected his choice of words and making Derek tighten his grip on the steering wheel.

“Care to expand?” Derek prompted. The lack of detail would not help them find solutions to these supposed problems.

“I’ll start with the most urgent one,” Clark replied decisively. “This plan we had for tonight? The one where we didn’t tell Scott because he’d only think we’re crazy and not give us a chance to explain? The one where we were going to lure him out of his house and into the woods and then explain after the full moon?” Derek nodded. He was well aware of the plan; it was his plan after all. “It’s not going to work.”

“It will work,” Derek argued, confident in his plan.

“No. It won’t work. Because it’s Friday night and what high school teenager stays at home on a Friday night?” Clark pointed out, realising he should have noticed that flaw when Derek had first put forward the plan. He was fully willing to let himself off given the ghost-filled week he had had. “There’s a house party. Tonight. Scott’s going and he’s got a date. Argent’s daughter.”

“Then we’re going to have to go to his house and tell him everything,” Derek decided.

“Yeah, that sounds great and all except for the flaw in this new plan,” Clark commented in response, earning a ‘don’t make me ask “what”’ glance from Derek. “Unless you know his address, which would be very stalkery, how are we going to find his house?”

“That was part of the original plan where you befriended him and found out the details,” Derek growled in frustration. “What have you been doing all week?”

“Befriending other people,” Clark confessed, realising why there was a reason Laura had arranged and planned pretty much everything that they had done back in New York. Plans fell apart very easily when he and Derek did them.

“Other people?” Derek repeated, not quite believing what he was hearing.

“I have old friends here from elementary school. And those old friends have lots of new friends who have also become new friends to me,” Clark explained in far from simple terms. “I got distracted alright!” He admitted at Derek’s pointed look. “But my friends are going to help me with our problem.” With that, Clark pulled his phone out of his pocket, scrolling through his contacts until he found one name in particular: Danny. From what Clark had seen, he was practically friends with everyone.

Clark clicked on his name and hit the dial button before pressing the phone to his ear. Within two rings, Danny had answered with a friendly ‘ _hello_ ’. That suggested an eagerness to talk to him, unless Clark was reading far too into it. “Hey, Danny. I’ve got a favour to ask.”

_“Go for it.”_

“This is gonna sound kind of stupid,” Clark started as he rubbed his right eyebrow, “But, uh, me and Scott were going to work on a project for Econ before the party tonight and I forgot to get his address. I don’t suppose you have it, do you?”

_“Uh, yeah he’s on Williamson Road. I don’t really remember the number… 8 something, something. It’s quite big. Mostly green. White edges.”_

“Thanks Danny. I owe you one,” Clark told him.

_“See you at the party.”_

Clark ended the call. “Not if I can help it,” he muttered to himself. “Williamson Road,” he proceeded to report back to Derek. Giving Clark no warning, Derek made a sudden and considerably fast U-turn.

* * *

Within ten minutes of calling Danny, Clark and Derek had pulled up opposite what they could only assume to be the McCall house. Luckily, there weren’t many houses on the street which matched Danny’s description. Derek switched the engine off and made a move for his door handle. Clark swiftly grabbed his arm to stop him. “Not you. Just me,” he said.

Derek turned to him with a look of disbelief. “You want me to sit in the car whilst you fill Scott in?”

“Yeah.” Clark responded like it was obvious, earning a glare from Derek. “How exactly do you expect the conversation with his parents to go? ‘Hi there! I’m Clark, Scott’s new friend from school. We arranged to meet up before the party tonight and oh yeah! I’ve brought my twenty-two year old brother with me to come to a high school party.’ Tell me, how do you think that will go down?”

“About the same as telling Scott he’s a werewolf,” Derek deadpanned as Clark got out of the car, happy to have got his point across to his brother.

Clark ducked down to look at his brother through the car window. “Sit tight,” he grinned as he spoke, “I’ve got this.”

After a quick check for cars, Clark crossed the road, approaching the house with confidence. He stepped up to the door and proceeded to knock three times. At first, there was no answer but the number of lights on in the house convinced Clark that someone had to be home. He drummed his fingers against his leg impatiently as he waited for someone - _anyone_ \- to get the door. Eventually, he heard movement on the other side of the door and it was pulled open, not by Scott, but by a woman Clark assumed to be his mom. “Hello there,” she greeted him, her tone friendly and welcoming as she studied him, trying to work out if she’d seen him before.

“Hi,” Clark returned the greeting with his own friendly tone and a smile. “I’m a friend of Scott’s from school,” Clark explained, keeping the details short knowing full well that too many details created suspicion. If she asked, he’d provide them. “Can I talk to him?”

“You’ve just missed him,” Ms McCall’s response was unexpected. There was still plenty of time before the party started. “He went to see Stiles. He’ll be back before the party though if you wanted to wait?”

“That’s alright,” Clark politely declined as he stepped away from the door. “I’ll probably see him at the party. Thank you anyway.” Clark turned as made his way back towards the road, waiting until he heard the sound of the door shut before breaking into a brisker walk, hurrying to Derek’s car.

“What are you doing?” Derek questioned him as Clark returned to the car without even going into the house. He had watched as the woman at the door had pulled it open further, appearing to be letting Clark in only for his brother to walk away. “The plan was to talk to Scott, not his mom.”

“Scott’s not there. He’s gone to Stiles’ house,” Clark filled him in as he clicked his seatbelt into place.

Derek huffed; the entire thing was starting to turn into a wild goose chase. “And Stiles’ house is where?”

Clark hadn’t even thought about that. Soon enough, he found himself with his phone to his ear, listening to the dialling tone and he waited, once again, for Danny to answer. Danny didn’t pick up quite as quickly as the first, making Clark realise that the first time he had probably happened to be by his phone when it rang. Danny’s _‘hello’_ in greeting sounded just as friendly as the first time.

“Me again!” Clark responded, somewhat sheepishly, adding a friendly smile until remembering that it was a phone call and Danny couldn’t see him. He quickly dropped the smile. “So I’m having kind of a bad day. I forgot that Scott and I had arranged to meet at Stiles’ house, making myself look like a bit of an idiot arriving at Scott’s house. I don’t suppose you have Stiles’ address too? You’d be a lifesaver!” Clark received a look off Derek for the addition of the dramatic last line. He mouthed ‘shut up’ to him in response.

“ _You’re not going to have much time to study for the party at this rate.”_ Danny replied, focusing on the wrong thing.

“Tell me about!” Clark muttered in response, drumming his fingers against his leg impatiently for the second time that night. “Have you got it?”

* * *

For the second time in less than ten minutes, Derek pulled up on the side of a residential street opposite the house of a teenager. If someone had been watching his movements, he wouldn’t blame them for making suspicious assumptions. On the drive over, Derek had given Clark strict instructions to get Scott out the house, to the car and then they would explain together. The last thing he needed was a bunch of teenagers suddenly thrown into their world.

Clark was out of the car before the engine had even been turned off, pushing his door shut at the same time that Derek turned the key in the ignition to shut off the engine. Clark reached the front door of Stiles’ house and knocked on it. The door was opened a lot faster than it had at the McCall’s house, answered by a man wearing a sheriff’s uniform. Stiles’ dad, Clark deduced as he remembered overhearing Stiles’ conversation about fiber analysis.

“Hi! I’m a friend of Stiles’ from school,” Clark began to recycle the same lines he had given to Scott’s mom. He didn’t have to go any further however, as the Sheriff stepped back from the door, inviting Clark in.

“He’s up in his room,” the Sheriff informed him, vaguely indicating towards the stairs as he shut the door before venturing off towards a table filled with reports of official looking documents. The Sheriff appeared to had made the assumption that Clark had been there before and knew where to find Stiles’ room. Clark decided to avoid drawing attention to himself by not correcting that assumption, instead heading off up the stairs to find Stiles himself. The house didn’t look that big.

It didn’t take Clark many attempts to find the right room, stepping into the open doorway to see Stiles changing into a light pink shirt, his fingers fumbling with the buttons. Stiles’ attention was completely held by the buttons on his shirt that were refusing to do up, not immediately noticing Clark’s presence and allowing him to glance around the room. There was no sign of Scott but the mass of lycanthropy books on the desk combined with printed research told Clark that Stiles was very close to the truth, if he hadn’t worked it out already.

“Shit!” A startled Stiles exclaimed upon lifting his head to find Clark stood silently in the doorway. “What the hell, man? How long have you been there?”

“A few seconds,” Clark responded nonchalantly as he stepped into the room properly, appearing completely oblivious to the creepiness of his actions. Stiles assumed he had picked that up from his brother. Clark was trying not to smirk as he listened to the pace at which Stiles’ heart was beating, noticing that Stiles had placed a hand over his heart, as if expecting it to help slow his heart rate back down. Under Stiles’ watchful eye, Clark approached the desk and riffled through the numerous mythology and lycanthropy books the other teenager had amassed. He picked one of the books up, holding it so Stiles could see and raising an eyebrow inquisitively. “Got an obsession with werewolves?”

Clark watched with amusement as Stiles’ facial expressions revealed some kind of internal debate he was having with himself. As this continued for longer than Clark had expected, Clark grew bored and looked absentmindedly around the room as Stiles no doubt tried to make a decision on how much to tell him. Clark’s eyes widened and his head tilted ever so slightly to the side when his eyes caught sight of Stiles’ chair; the black leather on the back of it torn with a resemblance to claw marks. “You acting out werewolf fantasies?” He commented with a smirk as his fingers traced the claw marks, informing Stiles that he had spotted them and hopefully speeding up his decision to tell him what he knew.

“No,” Stiles denied indignantly and let out a sigh before reaching the decision to fill Clark in. “It was Scott.”

Clark feigned confusion, as much for his own amusement as to find out exactly how much Stiles knew. “Scott has werewolf fantasies?”

Stiles stared at him as if he had lost his mind. “Where’s werewolf fantasies come from?” Stiles exclaimed prompting Clark to pick up more of the books off the desk to defend himself. “What are you doing here?” Stiles suddenly thought to ask.

“I was supposed to meet Scott before the party. His mom said he was here,” Clark replied casually, trying as hard as he could not to looked panicked by the question he had no good answer to. “Don’t try to distract me!” He exclaimed in his own attempt to distract Stiles before he demanded more details from his lie. “What happened to your chair?” He continued to push to find out how much Stiles actually knew.

Stiles slumped onto his bed, “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

Clark took a seat on the clawed chair, leaning forward to close the gap between him and Stiles, “Try me.”

There was a moment of silence as the two teenagers stared at each other, Stiles convinced that Clark wasn’t going to believe him whilst Clark sat impatiently, his fingers drumming on the arm rests of the chair. “Scott’s a werewolf!” Stiles suddenly blurted out and then proceeded to let out a sigh of relief at being able to tell someone else.

Clark let his jaw drop, “Huh?”

Stiles jumped back to his feet, pacing around the room as he spoke, Clark’s brown eyes following his every move intently, “I know it sounds crazy. But I dragged Scott out to the woods with me Sunday night to look for a dead body - well half a body. We got separated and he told me the next day at school that he got bit by a wolf. But there are no wolves in California. You’ve seen him play Lacrosse. He’s impossibly good now! He doesn’t need his inhaler. He’s got more speed, faster reflexes, heightened senses and, apparently, claws.” Stiles finished, indicating loosely towards the back of the chair Clark was sat on.

It was a good job that Clark already knew about everything that Stiles was talking about. The guy had been speaking so fast that Clark had struggled to keep up with everything. “And it’s the full moon tonight,” Clark responded, feeling the effects himself. Keeping control was tiring. It would be so much easier to give in and let the wolf take over but its violent nature wasn’t something Clark could willingly let take over him. Stiles gaped at him, no doubt surprised by how willing he was to accept Stiles’ story but Clark wasn’t interested in pursuing an acting career and didn’t have the time to mess about with ‘no ways’ and ‘hows’. It was, as he had said, the full moon and Scott, unlike him, didn’t know how to control himself.

“That’s right,” Stiles nodded. “His bloodlust is going to at its highest tonight. I tried to tell him that but-” Stiles cut himself off, indicating to the back of the chair, once again, to explain without having to use words. “He was insistent on going to the party. He’s was determined to get his date with Allison.”

“So we go to the party?” Clark checked on what Stiles was planning to do.

“Yep.” Stiles confirmed. “Need a lift?”

Clark glanced out Stiles’ bedroom window, fully aware that Derek was sat out there waiting for him, still unaware that Scott wasn’t there. As much as he knew Derek would want him to fill him in properly and proceed to head to the party together, Clark also knew how unaware Stiles was of the dangerous world he had just stepped into. There was an Alpha out there - an Alpha that Clark had deduced not to be Laura because his sister would not ignore their texts and calls for days, resurface to bite Scott and then disappear from the face of the Earth again - and Stiles would not know how to defend himself if he ended up face to face with it. Not that Clark could do much against one by himself but it was better than nothing. “Yeah,” he accepted Stiles’ offer before pulling his phone out and sending a text to Derek:

_Scott’s not here. Hellbent on going to party. Stiles knows everything. I’m going to the party with him._

After hitting send, Clark fixated his hearing on the street outside. He heard Derek’s phone ping with the notification that he had received a text. There was a brief pause and then Clark heard the Camaro engine roar into action.

“So,” Clark smiled, turning his attention back to Stiles, “What’s your plan?”

“Huh. I don’t have one.”

Of course he didn’t.

* * *

Whilst his and Derek’s original plan didn’t involve having to go to the party, Clark had envisioned their back-up, back-up plan involving him arriving in Derek’s sleek black Camaro. _Not_ Stiles’ scruffy piece of junk jeep. Then again, they were long past Plan C, probably nearing Plan H the way that the night had gone.

“Yep. He’s here,” Stiles confirmed as they both climbed out of the jeep, Stiles’ eyes drawn to a nearby car. “That’s his mom’s car.”

“Right, so, one last time,” Clark started speaking as he followed Stiles towards the door of the house. “Remind me of your _fantastic_ plan.”

Stiles froze, one hand on the door handle of the house, as he turned to look at Clark with a ‘ _how many times do I have to go over this?’_ look on his face. Clark stared back at Stiles, folding his arms and waiting for a response. He was close to saying ‘ _I can do this all night’_ before realising that he really couldn’t and Stiles would call his bluff on that one. “We go in. We keep an eye on Scott.” Stiles eventually replied as he opened the front door.

“And if he goes all werewolf bloodlusty on everyone?” Clark prompted, making no move to step through the door.

“We deal with it,” Stiles replied.

“We deal with it?” Clark repeated incredulously. He didn’t even want to think what would have happened had he and Derek not returned to Beacon Hills that week.

“I don’t see you coming up with a better plan!” Stiles shot at him defensively before stepping into the house and going to join the party, no longer caring whether Clark followed him in or not.

“Yeah. Because we don’t need you to help us enact it,” Clark muttered to himself as he stepped into the house and pulled the door shut behind him. Derek had texted him Plan H(?) - Clark still wasn’t sure - whilst Clark was in the jeep with Stiles on the way to the party. Essentially, they were going back to Plan A but instead of luring Scott from his house to the woods, they were luring Scott from the party to the woods using Allison. All Clark had to do was convince Allison to leave the party with him which, considering Allison was on a date with Scott, was going to be a lot harder than Derek seemed to think it would be.

Moving through the house, Clark found it filled with people despite the heart of the party - and source of the loud, booming music - being in the garden. Clark recognised some of his fellow partygoers from school and assumed the ones he didn’t recognise were people he had yet to meet properly. He made it through to the kitchen and was promptly reminded why he would never host a high school party - other than Derek not letting him and the fact that they lived in what many would see as a creepy, haunted house - the place was a mess. The counter tops were covered in opened bottles of alcohol and scattered plastic red cups whilst dropped food was scattered _everywhere_ and there were random suspicious puddles of liquid which Clark hoped were spilt drinks. If Lydia expected him to stick around and help tidy up she had another thing coming. He had Scott to deal with and even if he didn’t, he would have found a different excuse.

“Clark! It’s about time,” Jackson greeted him with a smile. His friend was stood at a counter, pouring out some drinks. He had gotten changed since Clark had last seen him at school, instead wearing a navy blue t-shirt with an unbuttoned white shirt over the top. The observation made Clark realise that he hadn’t had a chance to change since school, still wearing the light grey shirt and black leather jacket. He was sure no one would notice.

“I got a little caught up,” Clark explained. He wasn’t exactly lying.

“With Stilinski?” Jackson commented as he grabbed another red cup and started pouring out an extra drink. Huh. Jackson must have seen them arrive together. Great.

“It’s a long story,” Clark responded dismissively with a wave of his hand. Still; not lying.

Jackson finished pouring the drink and held the cup out for Clark to take. “Whatever, it doesn’t matter. We’re here to have fun and get drunk.”

_Speak for yourself._ Clark thought to himself. _I can’t get drunk. And I’m here to stop Scott from killing everyone._ Nevertheless, to avoid Jackson’s suspicion, he took the cup from him and downed it. Jackson stared at him, emotions flickering between being impressed and trying to decide if Clark was crazy. “We’re here to get drunk, right?” Clark returned as Jackson stared.

_If only._

He remembered Laura telling Derek once that an advantage of them not being able to get drunk was that it allowed them to stay in control of their thoughts and actions. No drunken texts. No drunken one-night stands. No drunken mistakes. Huh. Instead of losing control because of alcohol, they got to lose control due to the full moon.

“So _this_ is what high school parties are like?” Cora marvelled, suddenly appearing beside Clark as he stepped outside and into the real party, a second drink in his hand to blend in. The music was deafening outside and a herd of people were crammed in the space between the house and the swimming pool, jumping up and down and dancing with red plastic cups in their hands. Jackson had returned to Lydia, handing one of the drinks he had poured to her whilst keeping the other for himself. “I remember Derek and Laura sneaking out to go to them but this isn’t really what I pictured.”

Clark glanced at her, “What did you picture?”

“Like children’s parties but… with alcohol,” Cora responded with a shrug.

Clark scoffed, “You thought everyone sat around playing pass the parcel?”

“I didn’t know! I was nine!” Cora replied with a laugh and went to hit him playfully on his arm but her fist went straight through. That was a weird sensation. Clark could best describe it as some kind of harsh tingling in his upper arm until Cora pulled her arm back again. “Sorry,” she apologised, dropping both her hands to her side. “I forgot.”

“Don’t apologise. It’s going to take some getting used to,” Clark told her. “For both of us.” He added with a mutter as he took a swig of his drink. It may not have any effect on him but he could dream. His focus, that night, had to be on Scott but after he needed to work out exactly what was going on with him.

“Oh look! There’s Derek!” Cora suddenly pointed out their brother hiding in the shadows on the other side of the yard, his scanning the dancing crowd no doubt keeping an eye out for Scott. “He’s gotten older,” Cora commented as she _waved_ in Derek’s direction. Clark raised an eyebrow at her; perhaps it was going to take Cora longer than him to adapt to her new ghostly appearance. Clark opted against bursting her bubble and pointing out that he couldn’t see her.

Then, in the blink of an eye, Clark couldn’t see her anymore either. Instead, Danny stepped into her place from the kitchen, a red plastic cup in his hand. “Enjoying the party?” Danny asked him with his friendly smile.

Clark had to stop himself from sighing. As much as he liked Danny - because who didn’t? - he was supposed to be keeping an eye on Scott and he had yet to even find the guy. There were too many distractions; Jackson, Cora, the ridiculously loud music and now Danny. “Yup.” He responded, knowing full well that he only ever used the word ‘yup’ when trying to hide his irritation. Danny didn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of his irritation.

“Doesn’t look like it,” Danny observed. “It looks like you’re watching everyone else have all the fun.”

“Maybe that’s my idea of fun,” Clark countered.

“In which case, you don’t know what fun is,” Danny returned and suddenly Clark felt his hand on his arm. Danny started pulling him along, straight into the crowd of people dancing.

“What are you doing?” Clark questioned as Danny came to a stop right in the middle of the crowd. No matter which way he looked, all Clark could see was people dancing. On the plus side, Danny had helped him find Scott. The other werewolf was behind Danny, dancing with Allison and getting up close and personal. Clark couldn’t help but think of Argent sat at home - though he was probably out in the woods with a crossbow - totally unaware of his daughter’s close proximity with a werewolf. He smirked at that thought. The great werewolf hunter completely clueless.

“Showing you how to have _fun_ ,” Danny’s voice drew Clark’s attention back to the guy right in front of him and not the scene behind him. The way he spoke implied that Clark didn’t know how to have fun and he frowned at that; was he not fun? Had Danny been putting up with him all week just because he was an old friend of Jackson’s? _Probably_ , Clark realised but he was suddenly determined to change that.

“I know how to have fun!” Clark told him matter-of-factly, his head bopping as his eyes tracked Danny who was dancing and moving in time to the music.

“Prove it.” Danny challenged, a smirk flashing across his face.

Clark downed the rest of the contents of his cup, not that it would have any effect on him but he knew that alcohol was supposed to contribute towards eradicating inhibitions and maybe, _just maybe,_ it would work psychologically on him. Dancing wasn’t his thing. It was far from his thing. But he didn’t need Danny thinking he was boring.

With a resolved sigh, Clark threw all inhibitions to the wind and started moving in time to the music. For the first couple of minutes, he felt awkward and out of place, fully aware that he was surrounded by people he hardly knew. Then, he really started getting into it, a smile creeping onto his face as he started to find dancing _fun._ Once Clark had gotten into the basic bopping, Danny started throwing in more complex moves for him to imitate, laughing with Clark at his failed attempts to copy.

After recovering from one particular bout of laughter, Danny finally managed to get his words out, “Why were you dancing like a chicken?”

“That’s what you were doing!” Clark grinned in response, adamant that he had imitated perfectly that time.

“I definitely wasn’t!” Danny insisted, just as adamant. He doubled over slightly, holding his side. “Now I have a stitch from laughing too much,” Danny complained but Clark wasn’t listening. His smiled had disappeared as he realised that Scott and Allison were no longer behind Danny. A brief, panicked scan of the crowd confirmed that they were no longer amongst the dancers.

His determination to prove to Danny that he was fun was gone, instead replaced by a determination to find Scott before anything happened to Allison. Leaving Danny behind, Clark ran through the house and to the front door.

Stiles’ jeep was gone.

Derek’s car was gone.

Scott’s car was gone.

He’d been stranded at the party.

_Perfect._


	9. Care

The loud thumping music of the party was just as audible from the front of the house and it was doing Clark’s head in. He was kicking himself - not literally, but mentally he was kicking himself _a lot_ \- unable to understand how he’d managed to get so distracted from Scott. Could he put it down to whatever was happening to him with Cora? Or was it Danny? There had certainly been something wrong with him then. He _never_ cared what anyone thought about him. Thoughts can’t hurt. But he had cared _then,_ with Danny. He had cared about people seeing him dancing initially and he had cared about Danny thinking he couldn’t be fun. He kicked a stone on the ground in frustration, watching without a care - _no care_ \- as it hit a nearby car, leaving a small indent behind as it dropped to the ground.

“What the hell is going on with me.” He growled in a low mutter to himself. He blamed Beacon Hills. It was hard to believe that his life had been somewhat normal before returning. It was hard to believe that it had been less than a week. “No. Scott. This is about Scott,” he muttered to remind himself.

Not that he knew where Scott was.

Or Stiles, for that matter.

Or Derek.

Or Allison.

He glanced back at the house, Allison hadn’t been in the garden but she could have been inside. She could still be _at_ the party, safe and well. There was also the more likely option that she wasn’t there. Maybe she was safe with Derek or maybe she was still with Scott, far from safe.

Clark kicked another stone.

The speculation was doing his head in. He needed to do something. _Anything._ But with no idea where anyone was, who was with who, or what they were doing, he had nowhere to go.

His phone pinged.

Clark swore he had never moved so fast in his life. His phone was out of his pocket and in his hand in front of his face within seconds. An update from Derek:

_Dropped Allison home. Going to lure Scott out to woods._

Clark breathed a sigh of relief. Allison was safe at home and not getting mauled to death by a werewolf to spark Argent to go on a murderous rampage of revenge. With Allison out the picture and knowing what Derek was doing, it allowed Clark to focus on Scott and Stiles. With Scott taking his car, it suggested to Clark that the guy hadn’t fully succumbed to his blood-hungry werewolf nature at the time of leaving the party. He must have been feeling some effects to ditch Allison and provide Derek the opportunity to take her home.

Home.

A safe space.

And the one place you long to be when you’re not feeling right.

Scott went home. Clark was certain of it.

Clark started running.

* * *

Clark made it to Scott’s house in record time. Record time for normal humans, at least. He wasn’t a normal human, however, and if his werewolf side wasn’t proof enough of that, his ability to see ghosts - or one ghost for the time-being at least - sure had to be enough proof.

The first thing he spotted upon reaching Scott’s house was Stiles’ jeep parked outside.

The second thing he spotted was Stiles stood next to the jeep and promptly grabbing a baseball bat from inside upon locking eyes with Clark.

Clark scoffed, allowing himself a small shake of his head as he approached Stiles. Why he thought a baseball bat would be a suitable form of protection against werewolf Scott, Clark didn’t understand. “You think that’s going to stop Scott?” Clark questioned him, doing his best to hide the amusement in his voice.

“No.” Stiles answered as Clark reached the jeep. Perhaps Stiles was smarter than Clark was giving him credit for. Clark took another step forward and narrowed his eyes when Stiles took one back. The guy was acting weird. Weirder than normal. “I think it’s going to stop you?” Stiles finished hesitantly and Clark knew that he had been intending for it to come out more confidently than that.

“Stop me?” Clark replied innocently, placing a hand on his chest. Once again, he wasn’t about to reveal everything without knowing exactly what Stiles knew. Somehow, he’d found something out about him. That was evident. Every time Clark took a step forward, Stiles would take one back and Clark couldn’t work out if it was subconscious decision on Stiles’ part. “I thought Scott was the werewolf.”

“He is,” Stiles confirmed - not that Clark needed any confirmation - his voice more confident when talking about Scott’s new situation. “But he mentioned some things.”

“About me?” Clark asked with genuine confusion. There was no way Scott could have known about him. Was there? He looked at Stiles for the answers.

“Not exactly,” Stiles conceded, lowering the baseball bat at the same time. Not a good move if Clark actually wanted to cause him any harm. Then again, defending himself against a werewolf with a baseball bat was not a good move. “But!” Stiles continued, catching himself lowering the baseball bat and promptly swinging it back up again. “He told me Derek was the one who bit him. Your brother,” Stiles clarified, as if Clark didn’t know who Derek was. “Did you know that?”

Clark couldn’t help himself. He started laughing much to Stiles’ obvious irritation. He knew he shouldn’t laugh. He knew that Scott and Stiles were both completely new to the world they had stumbled upon. He knew they were going to make wrong assumptions and take a while to get up to speed. It still didn’t stop it from being funny.

“What? Is this a joke to you?” Stiles questioned. “Your brother turned my friend into a blood lusting monster and you’re just going to stand there and laugh?”

Clark stopped laughing at that question. “Not monster. _Werewolf._ ” He corrected Stiles’ phrasing immediately. He hated that word. _Monster._ “Being a werewolf doesn’t immediately make you a monster.”

“Your brother is a werewolf and he’s bitten Scott, killed that girl and currently has Allison. That sounds monstrous to me,” Stiles responded, so far from the truth that Clark found it really hard not to laugh again. Derek had not made a good first impression on Stiles. Then again, Clark wasn’t sure Derek made a particularly good first impression on anyone - personality-wise, at least.

Clark let out a light chuckle as he stopped himself from laughing. “Firstly, Allison’s safe. Derek took her home. Secondly, Derek isn’t a murderer. He didn’t kill that girl. And thirdly, he sure as hell didn’t bite Scott.”

“How do I know you’re not lying?” Stiles challenged.

Clark pulled his phone out of his jacket pocket. “I’ve got Allison’s number. Call her if you need to,” He offered, taking a step forward to hand Stiles the phone only for Stiles to tighten his grip on the baseball bat and take a step back. Clark huffed in frustration at Stiles’ complete distrust of him. “Stiles, I’m a werewolf. If I wanted to hurt you, I would have done so by now and a bat sure as hell wouldn’t stop me!” He exclaimed.

Stiles slowly - but surely - lowered his bat at that. He still didn’t take the phone, however, continuing to leave Clark standing there with an outstretched arm. Clark gave up, pocketing his phone instead as Stiles replied, “You’re a werewolf too? Why aren’t you wolfed out right now?” Stiles gave a slightly nervous glance towards the full moon above them.

“I’m controlling it.” Clark informed him. “It takes some practice and a lot of concentration. Scott will get there one day, with the right guidance.” Clark turned to look at the house; he was done playing 20 questions. “Right now, however, he’s got no control over himself. Is he in the house?”

“No. He told me Derek was the one who bit him,” Stiles began recounting the events and Clark rolled his eyes hearing Scott’s incorrect assumption once again. “And I told him Allison left the party with Derek. Then he left. Out his window.”

Clark smiled at that information. It took longer than they had intended and had involved things they hadn’t initially accounted for, but their plan was finally working.

“Why are you smiling? He went after Derek who, you claim, is innocent,” Stiles commented.

“Derek can handle himself against a new werewolf,” Clark told him confidently. “That was the plan - didn’t quite work exactly as planned but Scott is lured to the woods and no one gets hurt. Now go home Stiles.”

Clark turned, putting an end to their conversation and walking off down the street. He heard Stiles shout after him, no doubt left standing outside the McCall’s house with a dozen questions, but it was late, he’d been struggling with sleep recently and he was feeling _exhausted._ Tiredness and concentration combined with answering a tonne of questions would not be a good mix.

He needed to stay in control and for that he needed some peace and quiet.

Stiles had google and a whole load of books. He could find answers to his questions at home. Whether they were right or wrong, Clark didn’t care.

* * *

_It’s a new dawn._

Pull-up.

_It’s a new day._

Pull-up.

_It’s a new life._

Pull-up.

_For me._

Pull-up. Pull-up. Pull-up.

_And I’m feeling go-_

Pull-up. Pull-up. Wait.

Clark dropped to the floor, senses on high alert after his music was cut off. He span around, claws at the ready, to find Derek stood with Clark’s phone in his hand.

He did not look like he was feeling good. The scowl on his face suggested the opposite.

“Scott make it through the full moon without killing anyone?” Clark inquired, walking up to Derek and taking his phone back from him, heading for the remains of the couch to check through his phone.

“No thanks to you,” Derek’s confirmation was laced with irritation aimed at him. Nothing new there; Laura on many occasions had had to play peacekeeper between the brothers.

Clark stopped before he reached the couch, turning around to face Derek. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You didn’t stick to the plan,” Derek accused.

“What plan? We had about a gazillion plans last night!” Clark exclaimed simply to be awkward. He knew exactly what Derek was about to say.

Derek ignored him. “All you had to do was get Argent’s daughter-”

_“Allison.”_

“-To leave with you and I would do the rest. Instead you got distracted. You were too busy dancing with some guy-”

_“Danny.”_

“-To notice that Scott left and she followed him.”

“I did notice!” Clark defended himself, earning a scoff and a look of disbelief from Derek. “ _Eventually._ And as soon as I noticed I went to Scott’s house and got held at bat-point by an untrusting Stiles who - by the way - is convinced that you bit Scott.

“Held at bat-point?” Derek questioned; his amusement evident in his voice.

“Well I wasn’t about to show him how useless a weapon it is! You’re the one who wants me to befriend them-”

“Which you haven’t done yet.”

“I’ve only had _five_ days!”

“You seemed friendly enough with Danny.”

“With Danny? You mean the best friend of my childhood best friend Jackson?” Clark countered. “Don’t forget, Derek, I had a life here _before._ I had friends here _before._ You may think of them as a distraction but I’m not going to throw my whole life away to follow a new werewolf’s every move!”

“You don’t need to throw your whole life away,” Derek rolled his eyes at Clark’s dramatization. _Teenagers._ “Just keep a better eye on Scott. He’s a werewolf now. He has no idea what he’s doing and he’s dating the daughter of a hunter. That won’t end well for him and if too many people find out about him, it won’t end well for us.”

“Fine!” Clark huffed, agreeing out of exasperation. He was going to have to find a way to juggle his own friends, Scott and Stiles, and whatever was going on with Cora whilst trying to keep on top of his schoolwork. “Now can we please go to the furniture store? You promised me a bed frame. And a decent couch.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So a slightly shorter chapter than the previous ones but that basically concludes the events of Wolf Moon after a load of chapters! Other episodes probably won’t have quite as many chapters but I wanted to introduce a few extra things which will add some original plotlines to this as well as mostly following the Teen Wolf story. Let me know what you think!


	10. Jedi Master

The weekend went by far too fast but fairly similarly to his first week back in Beacon Hills; text messages back and forth with Jackson, piles of homework (completed on a new desk he’d convinced a reluctant Derek to buy him), occasional visits from Cora and nightmare-filled sleep.

He had spent a lot of his weekend wandering around town with a picture of Laura to no avail. Hardly anyone had seen her around town which was particularly concerning. He had made a second attempt with Derek to get the sheriff station involved which had ended, once again, by him being shot down. Derek seemed confident that they could solve their problems alone but as his brother dropped him at school, marking over a week since they arrived in Beacon Hills and Derek beginning his search, Clark didn’t share his confidence.

“Scott McCall, Clark Hale. Clark Hale, Scott McCall.” Almost as soon as he stepped out of Derek’s car, Clark was ambushed by Stiles’ introductions as he waved his hands around between Clark and Scott. It immediately made sense to Clark as to why Derek had dropped him off so far from the doors of the school.

“Yeah, Stiles, we’ve met,” Clark reminded him but flashed a friendly smile in Scott’s direction to keep Derek happy. Derek seemed content enough to see the interactions had begun as Clark heard the car reverse out of the spot behind him. “Last week. You were there.”

“Right but that was before we knew your secret,” Stiles responded animatedly whilst Clark watched Scott’s disinterested eyes scan the crowd of students gathering outside the school before the start of the day. He was obviously looking for someone. “Now you can be, like, werewolves-in-crime.”

That statement caught Scott’s attention, his eyes returning to focus on the two boys around him as Clark stared at Stiles, unable to find an appropriate response. “Werewolves in crime?” Scott repeated slowly and questioningly.

“You know, like partners in crime but werewolves,” Stiles explained badly but seemed oblivious to that fact, nodding his head eagerly.

“In _crime_?” Clark decided it was his turn to repeat Stiles.

“No. Not crime!” Stiles responded as Clark and Scott shared confused looks. “Never mind, forget werewolves-in-crime,” Stiles waved his arms dismissively as he prepared to start over. Clark folded his arms and stood watching Stiles expectantly whilst Scott frowned at his friend. Stiles pointed at Clark. “You’ve been a werewolf for long enough that you know how to control yourself on a full moon,” Stiles’ pointing finger moved to Scott, “He can’t. But you said on Friday that Scott can do that too once he learns how to. So you can help him, right? Like the Obi-Wan to his Luke.”

Scott appeared completely lost again as soon as the Star Wars reference came up meanwhile Clark stared at Stiles in disbelief. “Oh don’t tell me you haven’t seen Star Wars!” Stiles exclaimed at Clark.

“I’ve seen Star Wars,” Clark informed Stiles. “Obi-Wan was a Jedi Master when he taught Luke. I’m far from that. I’ve not long learned control. You want your werewolf equivalent of a Jedi Master? The one I know is missing. Derek is the closest you’re going to get.”

Scott looked baffled whilst Stiles didn’t appear to agree with Clark’s suggestion. Clark turned and began walking towards the school building whilst Stiles hurried after him, followed by Scott, protesting, “Derek? In case you’ve forgotten, he _bit_ Scott.”

Clark smirked, Stiles’ protest reminding him that he hadn’t set Stiles completely right with that. He stopped near the steps up to the door and turned to face the other two again. “How do you know _I_ didn’t bite Scott?” He proposed, deciding to mess with them. It was just _too_ fun.

Stiles looked taken aback by that suggestion, his eyebrows furrowing as he put genuine thought into the possibility. Scott, meanwhile, did not look convinced. He stood facing Clark with a knowing look on his face. “I confronted him. He didn’t deny it.”

“Did he confirm it?” Clark challenged and watched Scott’s eyes shift to the right as he recalled the events in his head.

“Not exactly,” Scott confessed. “He just started talking about how the bite is a gift.”

“Are you saying that you bit Scott?” Stiles asked, causing both of them to look at Clark inquisitively.

Clark stayed silent for a few moments, creating some tension purely to mess with them as they continued to stare at him expectantly. “Yes,” he replied, watching in amusement as surprised expressions appeared on their faces. Stiles took a slight step back making Clark wonder, once again, whether it was a conscious decision or not. He gave it a few seconds before answering truthfully. “No. I didn’t. And neither did Derek,” he told them, receiving looks of disbelief from the pair of them. “Only Alphas can turn people. Derek and I aren’t Alphas.”

The bell rang, signalling the start of the school day, and a flood of fellow students started piling past them towards the door. Clark turned and started walking again, taking the steps up to the doors with Scott and Stiles either side of him. “Who bit me then?” Scott asked as the trio walked through the doors and into the hallway which was jammed with students making their way to their own homerooms.

“No idea,” Clark answered and he pushed his way through the crowd of people. “It’s also not really my most pressing issue at the moment.”

“What is?” Stiles asked.

“At this specific moment in time, getting to homeroom on time,” Clark answered to avoid answering the question honestly. He was hardly going to turn around and list off all his pressing issues that topped not knowing who turned Scott. “First impressions with my homeroom teacher did not go well last week.”

* * *

The school had found it most convenient to place their two newest Sophomores in the same homeroom which was how Clark found himself sat in front of Allison and Lydia listening to their continuous chatting. “How come you left my party so early?” Lydia was practically interrogating Allison.

Clark heard Allison sigh before answering, “Scott just left out of the blue and I didn’t feel like partying after that.”

Putting two and two together, Clark realised that Allison must have been the person Scott had been looking for outside the school. If he hadn’t called her over the weekend, it seemed like he wanted to explain and apologise in person for bailing. Before he could stop himself, Clark turned around to join the girls’ conversation behind him. “He didn’t mean to. There was just - something came up and he had to go,” Clark stumbled out in no way prepared to lie for Scott and having no idea why he was trying to help Scott out with the daughter of a hunter.

Allison stared at him, obviously full of questions after his interruption but before she could say anything in response, Lydia piped up, “Don’t think I didn’t notice you disappearing as well! One minute you were dancing with Danny-” Clark’s eyes shifted across the room to where Danny was sat at his desk. He had been attempting to at least make eye contact with him since arriving in the classroom but Danny was either avoiding him or too caught up in the school survey they were supposed to be completing because _‘student’s voices matter’._ “-And the next you were gone.”

Lydia’s tone was accusing and Clark turned his attention back to the girls, confused. “Wha- what are you accusing me of?”

“Don’t you think it’s a bit funny that both you and Scott bailed on the party?” Lydia challenged in a suggestive tone.

Clark’s jaw dropped as he questioned why people in Beacon Hills made such wild accusations all the time. “It’s called a _coincidence_ ,” he replied. “I don’t know exactly why Scott left but I had to go because-”

“Your brother broke his leg?” Allison cut him off teasingly as Clark caught sight of the small smile tugging at Lydia’s lips. They were messing with him.

Clark chuckled lightly and gave a small shake of his head. “I’m not doing this,” he told them. “My voice matters,” he commented sarcastically to them before turning back to his desk, picking up his pen and reluctantly completing the survey. Not that he had much to say about the school after a week.

* * *

Walking into his French class, Clark’s eyes fell on an empty desk next to Danny. He increased his speed to take the seat before the person who normally sat there could arrive, plonking his notepad on top of the desk to further seal his victory. Clark turned, ready to gain Danny’s attention only to find he already had it, a mixture of confusion and amusement clear on Danny’s face. Clark shot him a smile. “Hey, listen about the party-”

For what had to be the hundredth time since he’d returned to Beacon Hills, Clark found himself getting cut off again, complete with a tap on the shoulder, “Excuse me. You’re in my seat.” Clark turned his attention away from Danny to see who had interrupted him, finding himself looking up at a girl who looked less than impressed about finding him sat at her desk.

Clark waved a dismissive hand. “Just take mine,” he told her and without waiting for her response turned back to Danny. He was about to return to what he had been saying when Danny spoke up instead.

“I’m sorry about the party,” Danny apologised and actually made it sound genuine in his somewhat-irritating nice way. Clark always struggled with making the word ‘sorry’ sound genuine, even when he genuinely meant it.

Clark frowned, not following him at all, “You’re sorry?”

“You didn’t want to dance. I threw you into the middle of it and didn’t give you much of a choice,” Danny explained, clearing Clark’s confusion as he realised that Danny thought he’d left because of him.

“No!” Clark exclaimed, slightly louder than he had intended, causing those sat at the desks around them to glance around. Clark found himself putting up an awkward apologetic hand before continuing. “That’s not why I left. I actually had this family thing…” Clark trailed off as he tried to find a good excuse. He really needed to get better at thinking up lies on his feet.

“Clark!” Clark tried to hide his relief when he was saved by Ms Morrell’s interruption. As he turned to face her at the front of the classroom, Clark saw that the girl whose seat he had taken had not taken his as he’d suggested. She still stood in the aisle, waiting expectantly for her desk. “Let Jess have her normal seat.”

“I guess I’ll talk to you later,” Clark muttered to Danny who responded with a small smile, before he stood up and observed as Jess seemed to relax as she reclaimed her desk. Clark sent her an odd look before taking a seat at the only available desk in the room.

The lesson went by fairly quickly with Clark forcing himself to participate with answers to questions. Some of his other subjects like Math and Chemistry weren’t going so well. French was one of his few academic strengths so he was determined to make good progress and participation in at least a couple of lessons to try and help get his homeroom teacher off his back.

As the class emptied out at the end of the lesson, Clark hung back making out that he was taking ages to pack his things away. After packing up so irritatingly slowly in order to ensure that he was the last student remaining, Clark stopped at Ms Morrell’s desk on his way towards the door.

“Just so you know, I’m not actually going to be turning up to that counselling session today, or any of the ones you had booked in actually,” Clark told her. Over the weekend, Clark and Cora had decided that he was, in fact, communicating with a ghost. They had also theorised that one day he may be able to talk to more ghosts than Cora. Clark knew that attending counselling sessions wasn’t going to make any progress with that. “I’m fine now. I think it was difficulty adjusting but, you know, it’s all good now. I’m absolutely fine. Got nothing that needs counselling,” Clark rambled as he backed towards the door, saying whatever came into his head. He wasn’t about to give the French-teaching-guidance-counsellor a chance to talk and convince him otherwise. He had far too much going on to attend counselling sessions, no matter what Ms Morrell or Mr Kenneth said to him.

* * *

“Tell me everything you know about ghosts!”

Jamie looked up from the history textbook he had placed on his desk and glanced over his shoulder to find Clark beaming at him enthusiastically, “What?”

“Ghosts,” Clark repeated as quietly as he could to avoid Jackson overhearing the conversation whilst trying to ensure that Jamie heard him. Clark had planned on catching Jamie during lunch but the guy hadn’t turned up leaving Clark to resort to question him during their history lesson together. “You were trying to tell me about them the other day but I wasn’t interested. Now I am.”

Jamie glanced back at him again. “I don’t think this is the best place to talk about this,” he hissed before turning his attention back to the front of the classroom.

“Dude I’m telling you I can talk to ghosts and you’re more interested in _history!”_ Clark whispered at Jamie’s back.

The English teenager turned back around again, a look of excitement on his face. “So I was right!” He grinned, his excitement making Clark smile back at him. “How many have you spoken to?”

Clark’s smile faded slightly at that question. He shuffled a little awkwardly in his seat before answering, “Well, just Cora at the moment. But how would I try contacting other ghosts?”

“Uh, Ouija boards are a common method of communication,” Jamie shrugged unhelpfully; Clark wasn’t exactly trying to plan some scary slumber party.

“Right, because those things work,” Clark muttered back sceptically.

“You didn’t believe in ghosts at all last week! How are you so sure they don’t work,” Jamie hissed back at him.

“Gentlemen.” The two teenagers jumped at Kenneth’s sudden interruption, looking around them to see that he had at some point during their conversation moved from the front of the classroom to right beside their two desks. “I don’t think this is the place to be talking ghost stories, do you?”

Clark frowned, “Isn’t that what you do? Since history is made up of ghosts?” Kenneth gave Clark a look which told him he wasn’t going to dignify that comment with a response and made Clark realise he probably should have kept it to himself. “I’ll just shut up now.” Clark promised as Kenneth began to make his way back towards the front of the classroom. Clark couldn’t make out whether Kenneth returned his statement with an appreciative nod.

* * *

The changing room was growing in noise the longer that they were in there as the players hyped each other up, something Clark thought was a bit excessive for a practice. The lack of a reaction from Danny and Jackson as they finished getting changed and started picking up their own gear suggested it was nothing new.

“You ready for your first game this weekend?” Danny asked him as Clark picked up the lacrosse stick he was still borrowing from Danny. He’d completely forgotten about lacrosse over the weekend, more focused on furniture shopping, and hadn’t remembered to sort out his own gear.

The room was beginning to empty out with teammates heading out for the field, making it quieter and more possible to have a conversation without having to repeat something a few times in order to be heard. “Uhh, I guess,” Clark answered, not at all invested in the conversation when he caught sight of Scott entering the room in a complete daze and with a raised heartbeat.

“Not the confidence-filled response I was hoping for.” Clark heard Jackson’s response but was too intrigued as to what had caused Scott to start taking his lacrosse gear _off_ right before practice was due to start. The guy had been determined to make the team and suddenly didn’t seem all too interested. Clark heard Jackson huff, presumably not too happy about Clark ignoring him, before Clark felt his hand place down on his shoulder. “Come on,” Jackson said as Clark turned to look at him, “Let’s get out on the field.”

“You go. I’ll be out in a second,” Clark told him, earning an odd look from Jackson as a result. “I need to get some better gear,” Clark lied as he subtly used his claws to make a rip in one of the gloves he had borrowed from the equipment cupboard. He held it up with an innocent smile, “This is no good.”

“We’ll wait for you,” Danny suggested with a friendly smile and Clark felt an urge to punch him for being _too_ nice.

“That’s alright. You go on out,” Clark insisted, returning the friendly smile and hoping it didn’t appear too forced. “No point us all being late. I’ll catch you up.”

Jackson, thankfully, was eager to get out on the field - no doubt determined to show Scott that he was the star player on the team - and left without any further interrogation, coaxing Danny out with him after Danny had offered to help Clark sort through the cupboard to find a decent glove to use. Clark stared after them both as they left, unable to understand how someone as nice as _Danny_ was best friends with someone like Jackson. As friendly as Clark was with Jackson, even he could admit that nice and Jackson didn’t really go together - except, apparently when it came to Danny.

Clark shook his head slightly out of disbelief before rounding the corner to question Scott whose heartrate had increased further since he had entered the room. He joined Stiles who was also stood at the end of the row of changing areas. “Yeah? Alright, then everything’s good!” Stiles exclaimed excitedly and began to walk off.

Clark raised an eyebrow at Stiles’ obliviousness. Even if Stiles couldn’t hear Scott’s pounding heartrate, the fact that his best friend was stood shirtless, lacrosse gear abandoned on the floor, and in a complete daze should have suggested that things were far from good. Clark grabbed the back of Stiles’ retreating figure, pulling him back as Scott dazedly responded, “No.”

Stiles pulled himself free of Clark’s grip, shooting him a glare before turning to Scott, his confusion evident in his response, “No…?”

Scott continued to stare ahead of him and Clark wasn’t sure if Scott even knew he was there. If he was paying attention to scents, he would be able to smell him but with the dazed state he was in, Clark wasn’t sure that he was. “Remember… the hunters?” Scott replied slowly as if he was struggling to find the words to explain. “Her dad is one of ‘em.”

Clark folded his arms and leaned back against one of the lockers, a small smirk appearing on his face upon realising that Scott had only just learned this information about his girlfriend’s dad. Watching the pair process it properly should be amusing.

“Her dad…?” Stiles repeated slowly, sounding shocked.

Scott nodded, still staring ahead, as he continued, “ _Shot_ me…”

“Allison’s father…?” Stiles reworded what he had earlier said as he continued to attempt to process what Scott had told him.

Scott nodded again, “With a crossbow.”

There was a moment of silence during which Clark’s eyes flicked between Scott and his daze, and Stiles and his shock. “Allison’s _father_!” Stiles exclaimed, breaking the uneasy silence, and causing Clark to let out an amused chuckle.

Scott, however, was far from amused. He was panicked; that much was clear from his heartbeat, and apparently not in the mood to hear Stiles repeat the same thing. “Yes! Her father!” Scott snapped impatiently, his harsh tone taking Clark by surprise.

Clark pushed himself off the locker and took a step forward, deciding he ought to step in before Scott got too irritated. “Okay, let’s not freak out about this. It’s not the end of the world.”

Stiles turned to face him, jaw dropped. “His girlfriend’s father!” He repeated slowly, as if Clark hadn’t heard him the last three times he had said it.

Clark rolled his eyes, “Yes. I got that. You’ve only said it a hundred times!”

“Why are you so calm about this?” Stiles challenged, narrowing his eyes at Clark suspiciously. “Allison’s father is a hunter,” Stiles somehow felt the need to reiterate the fact for the fifth time.

“This isn’t news to me,” Clark shrugged.

“Hold on a minute! You knew that Allison’s father was a hunter and you didn’t say anything?” Stiles questioned his tone full of judgement.

“Oh my God-” Scott’s panicked breathing distracted both Clark and Stiles before Clark could get interrogated any further.

Stiles jumped straight into action, running up to Scott and slapping him softly on the face to gain his attention. “No, Scott. Snap back! You okay?” Scott’s breathing slowed slightly as he concentrated on Stiles in front of him. “Hey, all right? He didn’t recognise you, right?”

Scott’s gaze dropped to the floor momentarily as the question triggered him to think back and put his focus into finding an answer as opposed to blind panicking. “No… N-no I don’t think so,” Scott answered, surprisingly confident despite his hesitancy in his answer.

“Does she know about him?” Stiles asked.

Before Clark had a chance to argue, Scott was back into panic stations, “Oh, yeah, I don’t know! What if she does?”

“She doesn’t.” Clark cut in quickly before Scott could send himself into too much of a panic. A panicked werewolf was the last thing they needed. Stiles and Scott both turned to look at him, the latter appearing surprised at Clark’s presence as he finally noticed him. “I had a run-in with the Argents last week. Allison doesn’t know a thing and he seems determined to keep it that way for the time being,” Clark explained further.

“See, we’re all good,” Stiles told Scott optimistically as he began to pick up some of Scott’s things.

“For now. But if Argent finds out what you are, he’ll-” Clark began warningly but was cut off by Stiles.

“Kill you,” Stiles finished for him, his earlier optimism disappearing quickly and causing Scott to gape at him, wide-eyed.

“No,” Clark corrected forcefully as he shot Stiles a ‘ _why would you even say that_ ’ glare. “The Argents have a code. Basically, if you hurt people, they’ll kill you _but_ you, Scott, haven’t hurt or killed anyone so you’re fine. What I was going to say, _before I was interrupted,_ ” Clark shot another glare in Stiles’ direction, “Was if he finds out what you are, he won’t want you anywhere near Allison.”

“But he won’t find out what you are,” Stiles’ optimism had returned again as he patted Scott’s shoulder confidently.

Clark scoffed, “He’s a werewolf _hunter._ You really think Scott can avoid his detection?” Clark directed his next sentence at Scott, “Your relationship with Allison is doomed.”

“No it isn’t!” Stiles argued and suddenly Clark was on the receiving end of a ‘ _why would you even say that’_ look.

Clark shrugged. “Have you ever seen Romeo and Juliet? Scott’s a werewolf, Allison is the daughter of a werewolf hunter. Essentially, in this werewolf version of Romeo and Juliet, the Montagues are the werewolves and the Capulets are the hunters. They have, and always will be, at war with each other. And we all know how Romeo and Juliet ended up as a result.”

“Will you shut up!” Stiles hissed. “The doom and gloom isn’t helping!”

“Says the guy who just moments ago said that Argent would kill him,” Clark shot back.

By this point, Scott looked entirely horrified, “What am I going to do?”

“Just focus on lacrosse,” Stiles told him reassuringly and Clark found himself scoffing in disbelief. Lacrosse wasn’t going to give him any answers; it would only distract him. “Here, Scott. Take this,” Stiles shoved Scott’s shirt and protective gear into his hands. “Take this,” Stiles continued as he passed him his helmet. “Take this,” he said again as he added Scott’s lacrosse stick to his load, “and just focus on lacrosse for now, okay?”

Scott nodded, “Lacrosse.”

“Alright! Let’s go!” Stiles exclaimed enthusiastically, practically pushing Scott towards the door as Scott hurried to put his gear on. With Scott distracted with getting ready, Stiles leaned closer to Clark, “Since when has comparing a relationship to Romeo and Juliet ever helped anyone?”

* * *

One-on-one’s were going well for Jackson’s ego but not so well when it came to testing Danny in goal, Clark realised as he stood in line behind Scott and Stiles waiting patiently for their turns. Everyone who had gone up against Jackson in the drill so far had failed to get past him. As Scott stepped up for his turn, Clark felt apprehensive. The last person Jackson would want to get past him was Scott; the guy threatening to take the spotlight from him.

Clark knew that Scott had no qualms about using his newfound abilities to his advantage in lacrosse. As Scott began his run towards Jackson, Clark feared that it was not going to end well for Jackson. Clark, however, was pleasantly surprised when Scott ended up flat on his back on the ground, Jackson smugly questioning, “Are you sure you still want to be first line, McCall?” as he walked away.

“What are you doing here?”

Stiles’ question distracted Clark from Scott as Coach had made his way over to the guy on the floor. Instead, Clark focused on Stiles in front of him, his helmet covering the majority of the confusion evident on his face as he replied questioningly, “Playing lacrosse?”

“Yeah. I overheard you talking to Lydia one lunch about playing basketball at your old school,” Stiles began to explain the reasoning behind his question which had taken Clark by surprise.

Clark interrupted Stiles with a scrutinising look, “Are you listening in to my conversations?” Clark knew that Stiles still didn’t trust Derek at all and, because of that, didn’t particularly trust him but he hadn’t expected Stiles to take his distrust quite so far.

“No!” Stiles denied immediately.

A smirk flashed across Clark’s face, “Lydia’s? Really?” Clark glanced over to the bleachers where Lydia was sat cheering on Jackson. “You… _Lydia_?”

“Yes. Well, no. I-” Clark chuckled as Stiles stumbled over his words until Stiles cleared his throat and managed to get his thoughts back on track. “Stop with the distraction techniques!” He exclaimed. “Why lacrosse here, not basketball? Are _you_ spying on Scott?”

_Partly._ Clark thought. _In fact, as far as Derek is concerned, yes._ But he wasn’t about to admit that to Stiles. “My friends here play lacrosse. I don’t know anyone on the basketball team.”

“McCall’s going to do it again!” Coach’s shout interrupted their conversation and Stiles reluctantly turned back around to see that Scott was back on his feet and jogging back to the starting position. “McCall’s going to do it again!” Coach repeated himself as Scott readied himself at the front of the line.

The pounding of Scott’s heart was faster than usual and Clark’s eyes flicked to Scott’s tight grip on his stick. _This is not going to end well_ , Clark thought as Coach blew his whistle and Scott began his run. He certainly ran faster than he had on his first attempt and Jackson, as expected, stood his ground, determined not to let Scott get past him.

Suddenly, Jackson was on the ground, clutching at his right shoulder in pain. This was followed by a brief moment of a horrible silence where everyone, including Coach, glanced at each other uncertainly. After a few seconds of this, Coach wandered over to Jackson, crouching down beside him.

Clark pulled his helmet off, dropping it and the stick he’d borrowed from Danny on the floor, and ran over to Jackson. He heard the heavy footsteps and breathing of other teammates following behind him and they were slowed by Coach, holding his hands up and illustrating to give him some space. Whilst most of the team backed off, Clark joined Coach crouching beside Jackson on the floor.

“It’s nothing,” Jackson growled, trying his best to play it off and instantly regretting making an attempt to sit up, wincing and tensing up as pain shot through his shoulder.

“Is he okay?” Lydia asked, voice full of concern as she finally reached them from the bleachers.

Coach pointed at her, “You are going to take him to get checked out. Make sure they know he needs to be fit to play the game on Saturday.”

Clark glanced at Coach with a look of disbelief. He knew the guy was serious about lacrosse but he hoped he didn’t actually expect Jackson to play if it was as bad as it first looked. “I’ll come with you,” Clark told Lydia before turning back to Jackson. “Standing up is going to be the most painful part. I’ll help you,” Clark told Jackson before gripping his right arm with his hand. Dropping his gaze to the floor to avoid eye contact with anyone else, Clark grimaced as he took some of Jackson’s pain from him. “Okay, ready?” Clark asked Jackson after, locking his brown eyes with Jackson’s blue. Jackson responded with a nod. “Three, two, one,” Clark counted down, feeling Jackson tense as he braced himself during the countdown. On one, both Clark and Jackson grunted as Clark pushed his friend onto his feet and Jackson continued to do his best to play it off as nothing.

Jackson shrugged Clark off him once he was back on his feet, instead allowing Lydia to fuss over him as the three left the field behind them, heading for Lydia’s car. “Now do you see what I’ve been saying about McCall?” Jackson shot at Clark. “He was nowhere near that strong before the break.”

“I’ve got nothing to compare it to. I didn’t see him before the break,” Clark shrugged unhelpfully and earned a glare from Jackson for not agreeing with him.

“A blind person could see that his strength is not natural,” Jackson retorted angrily. Clark decided against pointing out how ridiculous that statement sounded. “He’s so pumped up on steroids, he’s out of control.”

“You’re right. He is out of control,” Clark agreed but not for the same reasons that Jackson had put forward. Scott had had no control over his strength when he was on the field; presumably to focused on besting Jackson the second time around. With the first game coming up in a couple of days, Clark didn’t want to think about what Scott could do then.


	11. Hospital

Anyone would have thought it was a Friday or Saturday night considering how busy Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital was when Clark, Jackson and Lydia approached the front desk. The seats that lined the corridors were all but taken up and medical staff were rushing forwards and backwards, exchanging patient notes and maintaining organisation rather well considering they were rushed off their feet. Clark knew from the moment that they stepped into the hospital that they were going to be there for a while. Overhearing one nurse mentioning something about a car pile up a few miles outside the town not only cleared up why the place for so busy but also made it clear that Jackson was not going to be top of their priority list.

Approaching the front desk, Clark was surprised to see a familiar face. The woman sat behind the desk, typing away at the computer, was the same woman that had answered the door to him at the McCall house; the woman he had assumed to be Scott’s mom. She must have felt the presence of someone watching her for she looked up suddenly, before Clark had worked out what to say. A flicker of recognition crossed her face when she looked at Clark and she smiled at him, “You’re Scott’s friend, right?”

Clark’s eyes widened slightly at that statement and he hurriedly glanced over his shoulder, letting out a small sigh of relief when he saw that Jackson was preoccupied with Lydia as opposed to listening to their conversation. After Jackson had spent the entire car journey from the school to the hospital angrily ranting about Scott, Clark did not feel like trying to explain why Scott’s mom had referred to him as ‘Scott’s friend’. Despite not thinking of himself as Scott’s friend - the only reason they even talked to each other was because of the whole werewolf situation - Clark hoped to use Ms McCall’s assumption that he was to his advantage and try to get Jackson seen as soon as possible. The last thing three teenagers wanted to do was hang around for hours on end at a hospital.

Clark returned Ms McCall’s smile and added a nod of confirmation. “That’s right. I’m actually here with some of my other friends,” Clark told her and glanced over his shoulder again to find that Lydia had found Jackson a spare seat to wait at. He waved a hand in their general direction to point them out to Ms McCall. “Jackson landed awkwardly on his shoulder during lacrosse practice. He keeps trying to insist that it’s not as bad as it looks but we’re forcing him to get it looked at.

“It’s things like this that make me wish Scott had stuck to tennis,” Ms McCall commented as she turned to the computer. The imagery of Scott playing tennis was one that Clark struggled to entertain after watching him play lacrosse so well thanks to his newfound abilities.

“I guess you don’t share his excitement at making first line,” Clark commented to make conversation as he waited for Ms McCall to pull up the computer program that would add Jackson to the electronic waiting list.

“I’m proud of him for achieving what he wanted. He worked hard for it. I would just be a lot more comfortable watching him play tennis,” Ms McCall responded, her eyes focused on the computer screen as she spoke. “I’m going to need his full name and date of birth to find him on the system and get him into the waiting line.” Ms McCall looked past Clark to where Jackson was sat with Lydia behind him, almost as if she was expected Clark to have to call him over to get that information.

“It’s Jackson Whittemore, and June fifteenth nineteen-ninety-five,” Clark supplied her with the information and received a look of surprise from Ms McCall, making him confused as to why she had been so sure that he wouldn’t have known that information.

Ms McCall appeared to pick up on Clark’s confusion pretty quickly and hastily explained, “Sorry, I told Scott that you had dropped by the house and he told me you were new to the school. I wasn’t expecting you to know your new friend’s birthday.”

Clark nodded in understanding. “He’s not a new friend. I lived here until I was almost ten years old so he’s an old friend that I’m getting reacquaintanced with,” Clark explained.

Ms McCall nodded with a smile, “That makes sense.” She proceeded to type the information into the computer and, after double-checking Jackson’s birthday with Clark, found him on the system and added him onto the virtual waiting list. “It’s going to be about a two hour wait,” she informed him apologetically.

Clark had fully expected such a wait time but acted as if he didn’t, sucking air in through his teeth and rubbing the back of his neck. He made a point to overtly side-eye the computer before smiling at her. “I don’t suppose you know what buttons to press to get him nearer the top of the list?” Clark inquired innocently. “I understand life or death situations being the priority but what’s the chances of making Jackson the next priority after that?”

Ms McCall opened her mouth to reply, not looking convinced at all, but Clark continued before she had a chance to speak. “I wouldn’t normally ask,” Clark insisted, “but Coach needs to know as soon as possible whether Jackson can play the game on Wednesday. You know, for tactical reasons. And I know it’s just a game at the end of the day but I’d _really_ love to win my _first_ game for the Cyclones…”

Clark trailed off when he saw Ms McCall raise her eyebrows, seemingly on to him. “Which is also Scott’s first game,” she concluded with a small chuckle. “Are you emotionally manipulating me, Clark?”

Clark was momentarily taken aback by the fact that she had remembered his name. After all, they’d hardly spoken for more than a minute. He ignored the realisation and played innocent, putting a hand over his heart and feigning hurt, “I would _never_ do such a thing!”

Ms McCall let out another small chuckle before turning to the computer where she began typing. Clark’s eyes shifted between the computer screen and Scott’s mom as he tried to work out if she was doing him the favor. She waited until she had finished typing to tell him, “Keep it to yourself.”

“Thank you, Ms McCall,” Clark smiled warmly at her as he passed on his genuine gratitude. Being from a family made up mostly by werewolves who could heal themselves, Clark didn’t have much experience with hospitals and if he was being truly honest with himself, they kind of freaked him out.

“It’s Melissa,” Ms McCall insisted. “And it’s still going to be about a thirty minute wait.”

“Still better than hours,” Clark responded as he began to step away from the desk to the glee of the impatient couple waiting behind him who had been huffing and puffing for the entirety of their wait. Little did they know, they still had at least a two hour wait ahead of them. “Thank you, Melissa,” he thanked her again before leaving the impatient couple to discover the wait time for themselves and walking over to join Jackson and Lydia.

The seats around Jackson had emptied out during the time that Clark had spent talking to Melissa which Clark assumed was down to the continuous complaints that Jackson was making about the little things. Clark chuckled slightly to himself as he took the spare seat to the right of Jackson; he’d forgotten how irritable Jackson got when he was hurt and made to look vulnerable. “Why does it have to be so _white_?” Jackson grumbled unhappily as Clark settled down into his seat.

Clark only half-listened as Lydia reasoned about it being sterile only for Jackson to go on to list off more minor complaints about the hospital, about Scott and about life in general. His exhaustion from his recent difficulties sleeping was catching up with him and he found himself nodding off in the uncomfortable hospital chair, of all places.

_Clark didn’t completely understand what was happening. He knew that everything had changed. He knew that there had been a fire at home when he was out and he knew - even if he wished really hard that it wasn’t real - that mom and Cora and basically everyone he loved had died. He also knew that Laura was in a hurry to move away from Beacon Hills and had promised him lots of pizza when they got to New York which was going to be their new home. What he didn’t understand was why they were in a hospital._

_Laura spoke to one of the doctors whilst Derek and Clark sat on some chairs waiting for them. Clark had tried asking Derek what they were doing at the hospital but Derek had only grunted at him._

_Clark knew that was bad. Derek had avoided telling him any of the bad stuff that had happened recently. Clark wasn’t stupid; he had picked up the pattern. Any time he asked Derek a question that would require a bad answer, Derek would either tell Laura to answer him or ignore him until he went and asked Laura._

_Clark knew better than to interrupt so he waited really patiently for Laura to finish speaking to the doctor, drumming his fingers on his leg and swinging his legs. Laura finally finished her talk with the doctor and Clark jumped to his feet to question her, “What are we doing here? Are you hurt? Is Derek hurt? Why isn’t it healing?”_

_“Me and Derek are fine, Clark. You don’t need to worry about us,” Laura assured him and Clark saw her glance in Derek’s direction before continuing. “There’s something we haven’t told you yet about what happened.”_

_“About… the fire?” Clark asked hesitantly. It was a difficult subject to talk about around his siblings and all three of them had a tendency to dance around the topic as much as possible._

_Laura nodded and hesitated, trying her best to find the right words before revealing, “Peter survived the fire, Clark.”_

_Clark stared at her as if she had grown an extra head. He hadn’t seen what remained of the house but he had overheard some of Derek and Laura’s conversations - and arguments - allowing his imagination to create an image based off their descriptions. The image haunted his nightmares each night and the scenes he pictured terrifyingly suggested that everyone had been trapped inside. He frowned as he processed what Laura had said and then a small smile began to appear on his face as he realised they weren’t alone anymore. Uncle Peter was sillier than his mom had been but he was older than Laura and should be able to look after them. And he was fun._

_“Don’t get excited, Clark,” Derek spoke warningly causing Clark to glance over at the teenager and notice that he wasn’t smiling. He didn’t seem happy about Peter surviving the fire. Clark frowned. Derek still had the same look on his face that he seemed to always have since they got the news of the fire. It was the look he always had when waiting for Laura to give him the bad news. Clark couldn’t understand what bad news there could possibly be._

_“What? I don’t get it. What’s going on? Tell me!” Clark demanded, turning back to Laura, determined to find out. He was getting really tired of Laura and Derek both knowing things that he didn’t. They had always kept secrets from him but ever since their life had been torn to pieces, there was more and more that they were reluctant to tell him. Both were eager to leave as soon as possible which Clark had initially believed, like they had told him, that it was because there were too many memories in Beacon Hills. But then Clark began noticing things - he may be young but he wasn’t blind - that made him realise that there had to be more to it. His siblings were constantly looking over their shoulders, reluctant to leave him alone for the slightest second and Clark had picked up on both of them - even Derek - jumping at the slightest of noises that took them by surprise._

_Laura sighed, reluctant at the prospect of letting her little brother see Peter in the state that he was in. To Laura, Peter had been the immature and somewhat irritating uncle who had always seemed a little too bitter about her mother training her to succeed as Alpha - something that had come far too soon for Laura’s liking. To the younger children, however, Peter had been the fun uncle and Laura knew how much Clark - and Cora - had enjoyed his company. The protective side of her wanted to shield her little brother from the reality of what the hunters had done to their family; he had enough nightmares as it was. But she and Derek had both agreed that they couldn’t leave Beacon Hills behind without telling Clark that Peter had survived. “We didn’t tell you before because we weren’t sure he’d make it this long,” she began to explain._

_“Just tell me what’s wrong,” Clark demanded impatiently. It seemed that even good news in his life now had to come with bad news._

_“He’s badly burned, Clark. It’s really bad,” Laura informed him, feeling a surge of relief after telling him, though she knew that there was still a lot more information that Clark didn’t know - some he would know shortly and other pieces that she deemed him a little too young for._

_“Can I see him?” Clark asked before deciding he was fed up of constantly asking Laura’s permission to do something. She may have inherited the Alpha position but she was still his sister, not his mom. “I want to see him,” he corrected himself to make it clear to Laura that he wasn’t asking, he was demanding. Nothing she could say or do would stop him. For days, she and Derek had led him to believe that they were the only three Hales left; that there was no one left. No matter what state his uncle was in, Clark was ecstatic that it wasn’t true._

_Laura looked uncertain and glanced Derek’s way, looking for help. If Clark wasn’t feeling such a strange mixture of grief, happiness, confusion or irritation, he would have scoffed; like Derek was going to help Laura be the bearer of bad news. “You can’t stop me. He’s my uncle. I’m allowed to see him!” Clark snapped at her in frustration. He couldn’t understand why they would even tell him if they weren’t going to let him see him._

_“You don’t understand-” Laura began, still struggling to find the words to explain everything to him in a sensitive yet clear way._

_“I don’t understand because you’re not telling me anything!” Clark exclaimed, his irritation far higher than the feelings of grief, happiness and confusion at that moment in time. “You and Derek both act like I’m going to explode if you tell me something bad. But all I’ve heard every day is bad news and I haven’t exploded yet. I’ve cried and screamed and broken stuff but I haven’t exploded so just tell me what’s going on!”_

_“He’s in a coma,” Laura explained resulting in Clark staring at her blankly. Though he was fed up of both Laura and Derek treating him like a toddler, it didn’t mean he suddenly understood adult words. ‘Coma’ wasn’t long and confusing and hard to pronounce like a lot of words he didn’t know but it was still one he hadn’t heard of before. From his blank expression, Laura realised this and elaborated, “To help him heal, he’s having a really long sleep. We don’t know how long he’s going to sleep for. It could be days, weeks, months or years.”_

_“So I can’t talk to him?” Clark surmised from Laura’s explanation._

_“No,” Laura confirmed softly before giving him a small, encouraging smile, “But you can see him. If you really want to. It’s your choice.”_

_Clark suddenly felt a wave of uncertainty overcome him. Laura was letting him make his own decision and not only was Clark not used to that but he found himself wanting the decision to be made for him. The weight of responsibility felt heavy and Clark didn’t particularly like it. He reminded himself that he had already made his decision before Laura had offered him the truth and then slowly nodded his head. He wasn’t about to back out._

_Laura smiled warmly at him, “Come on then.” With that, Laura set off down the corridor, Clark following after her determined to keep up despite his sister’s strides being a lot bigger than his own. Derek took up the back and the sound of the three siblings’ footsteps filled the eerily quiet hospital corridor, echoing off the walls._

_After a short walk in which Clark, who wasn’t overly familiar with hospitals, found himself questioning why everything was so white and boring, they came to a stop. Laura put her hand on the door handle of one of the many plain and boring brown doors that lined the corridor. Clark frowned. The boring nature of the plain brown door didn’t exactly scream ‘Uncle Peter’ at him. It needed decorating. It needed to look more inviting and fun._

_Laura, however, didn’t give the boring door a second look as she pushed it open and gestured inside with her free hand. “Go on in,” she told him. Clark glanced at Derek whose facial expression was unreadable but gave him an encouraging nod._

_Clark moved slowly into the room with Laura close behind him, evident from the reassuring hand she had placed on his shoulder as they entered. The figure lying on the hospital bed in front of him didn’t match with his expectations. He had braced himself for the horrors of burnt flesh but instead the figure was barely recognisable as his uncle, covered in bandages._

_Laura gave him a gentle and encouraging push in the back, “Go and talk to him.”_

_Clark frowned, confused once again. “You said he was in a…” he paused, unable to remember the word she had used, “You said he was sleeping.”_

_“A coma,” Laura reminded him of the word before explaining, “Some say that people in comas can still hear everything happening around them. He won’t talk to you, but he might be able to hear you. Go and say goodbye.”_

_“We can’t just leave him here!” Clark protested. With the news that someone had managed to survive the fire, Clark had completely forgotten Laura’s plans to leave Beacon Hills._

_“They can care for him properly here. They’ll send us any updates and when he wakes up, we’ll invite him to come see us,” Laura told him, her tone making it very clear that nothing he could say would change her mind. It was a tone that she had picked up from their mom and it was a tone that Clark knew better than to argue with. “Go and talk to him,” Laura encouraged again, reverting to her soft and gentle tone, “We’ll be right outside. Take as long as you need.”_

_Clark watched as Derek left the room first, promptly followed by Laura who carefully closed the door behind her, leaving Clark on his own in the room with a sleeping uncle and the steady beeping of one of many machines in the room. Clark didn’t know the purpose of any of the machines but knew better than to touch or mess with them. He slowly made his way to the chair that Laura had drawn his attention to, sat down right on the edge of it and leaned his chin on the side of the bed frame._

_For a few minutes, Clark stared at his uncle’s unmoving figure in silence, not sure what he was expected to say and worried that he might feel stupid talking to a sleeping person. For those few minutes, all Clark could hear was the steady and repetitive beeping of the complicated machine and soon enough he was sick of it. If Peter really could hear what was going on around him, Clark assumed he would also be sick of the beeping._

_“I bet that’s really annoying,” he commented out loud and found himself pausing for a response, staring at his uncle expectantly before realising what he was doing. “Oh, it’s Clark by the way. Just in case you don’t recognise my voice. Did you recognise my voice? I don’t know if I’d recognise yours. Actually… I think I’m already forgetting mom’s voice and Cora’s voice and their laughs. Is that bad? It sounds bad.” Clark swallowed, determined not to start crying, fighting back the tears as he found himself talking about his family. He needed to show Peter that he was strong. “I don’t want to forget them. We’re moving away from Beacon Hills. Laura and Derek say there are too many memories here. They think we’ll be sad if we stay here. But how am I meant to remember everyone if we leave? What if I forget?”_

_Clark paused. If he wasn’t going to be able to talk to his uncle for a while, he didn’t want to leave his Peter thinking he was totally miserable. “I’m happy you’re alive, by the way. Laura and Derek only told me a few minutes ago. Well, Laura told me because Derek’s too much of a wimp to tell me about any of the bad stuff.” Clark let out the smallest of chuckles at that before hoping that Derek hadn’t heard his comment. He hurriedly glanced at the door, expecting Derek to burst through irritated but he didn’t. Either he didn’t hear him or Laura had stopped him from taking any action. “As soon as you wake up, I’m going to be here by the way. Even if it means finding my own way on buses and trains or, if I’m old enough to drive, stealing a car to come back. I’m going to be here and I’m going to tell you about every single thing you’ve missed. And I’m telling you now, if you don’t wake up before my birthday next month I will be expecting a present from you. And it better be something cool to apologising for missing my birthday. Like… a Roboraptor!”_

_Clark took a moment to consider the fact that he lost all his dinosaur toys in the fire. “Actually, any dinosaur toy would be cool since I don’t have any right now. But a roboraptor would definitely be the best thing ever!” Clark paused, glancing at the door. “I think I should go now because then you can sleep better and get better quicker. I’ll see you soon.”_

“Clark! Clark! Clark!” Clark groaned as he woke to the sound of his name being called and a constant prodding to his side. Why, when he was finally getting some kind of peaceful sleep, did he have to be somewhere other than his own bed. “Clark!” The consistent name-calling and prodding was annoying and forced Clark to reluctantly open his eyes, the bright white lights of the hospital blinding him for his troubles. Clark groaned again as he shielded his eyes from the lights. “You were talking in your sleep,” the voice that had woken him told him matter-of-factly, not sounding very impressed. Eyes still not adjusting to the light of the hospital corridor, Clark had to squint to avoided being blinded as he looked to the source of the voice. He was met by the sight of Lydia Martin which rejogged his memory as to what he was doing in the hospital in the first place.

“No I wasn’t,” Clark argued with her groggily as he rubbed his eyes; his memory-dream at the forefront of his thoughts. Laura had returned to Beacon Hills before going missing to check on their uncle’s progress, not content with the minimal updates, and Clark hadn’t even thought to go see him since returning. He’d gotten so used to not having his uncle in his life that the thought hadn’t crossed his mind. He would have to find the time to do so.

“Yes, you were. Some mumble-jumble about dinosaurs from what I could make out,” Lydia argued with him and her statement sounded like it could be true considering Clark had somewhat rambled to Peter about dinosaurs when he last saw him. He never did get that roboraptor. Laura had been insistent that he didn’t need to replenish the mass of dinosaur toys he had had at their old house.

Clark was ready to question her use of the phrase ‘mumble-jumble’, a slightly amused look on his face, when he noticed the empty chair between them. In his groggy state, he glanced around, expecting to see Jackson determined to walk off his injury. He didn’t see Jackson. “Where’s Jackson?” He eventually asked Lydia.

“He’s seeing the doctor now,” Lydia informed him.

“How long have I been asleep?” Clark asked. He had originally glanced at the clock to try and work that out but the damn thing was analogue - those things confused him to no end - and he didn’t even know what time they had arrived at the hospital, let alone what time he had fallen asleep.

“About forty minutes,” Lydia shrugged, making it clear that it was a rough estimation. “Jackson got seen fairly quickly considering how busy it is.”

“I put in a word with the nurse who was at the desk when we arrived,” Clark explained after glancing at the desk to see that Melissa was no longer there. He wondered if her shift had ended or if she was checking on some of her patients. “Kind of ironically, she was also Scott’s mom.”

Lydia didn’t seem interested in that information at all, busy typing away on her phone. From where Clark was sitting, it looked like she was texting someone but he was too far away to work out the name at the top of the screen. “Who’s Peter?” Lydia said suddenly, throwing Clark off and disturbing him at how casually she brought it up.

Clark, who didn’t want to get into the whole my-family-died-in-a-fire-and-only-one-of-them-survived conversation with his friend’s girlfriend, decided to stall and play innocent instead, “Who?”

“You kept saying the name Peter in your sleep,” Lydia replied, obviously not buying his innocent act as she pocketed her phone and turned to give him all of his attention. “Who is he? A boyfriend.”

Clark nearly choked on air. “No! No, no, no, no, no. God, no,” he insisted immediately, hoping he got his message across nice and clear. Lydia looked at him expectantly, waiting for some kind of answer from him. Clark glanced around the hospital corridor, hoping for some kind of distraction.

“Is this another question you’re going to avoid answering to maintain your _aura of mystery_?” Lydia questioned, emphasising the final three words with a sarcastic dramatic tone, complete with subtle jazz hands to avoid drawing too much attention from those around them.

“I don’t have an _aura of mystery_ ,” Clark denied, imitating her sarcastic dramatic tone and jazz hands when he copied her use of wording.

“Yes. You do,” Lydia maintained. “I hardly know anything about you,” she spoke matter-of-factly as if that proved her point and closed the case.

“We only met a week ago!” Clark exclaimed before correcting himself, “Well, technically we did meet in elementary school but last week is the first proper conversation I can remember us having!”

“I only met Allison a week ago,” Lydia countered, “And I know more about her than I know about you! She is a lot more forthcoming. Don’t think I haven’t noticed how you divert questions away from yourself at the lunch table when you don’t want to answer them. You ask Allison a question about your history project, you distracted Danny by pointing out some hot guy in the cafeteria, you managed to lead the conversation from a Jamie asking about what it was like living in New York to a full-blown debate over who would win in a fight between Spider-Man and Captain America, you only have to whisper the word ‘lacrosse’ to distract Jackson _and_ you even spilt juice on yourself when Danny asked why you had moved back to Beacon Hills.”

Clark stared at her, doing his best to hide his surprise. Lydia was definitely more observant than he had initially given her credit for. “I did genuinely spill that juice. That wasn’t some scheme to distract you all,” Clark told her, though it had been a welcomed distraction despite getting covered in the sticky substance.

“Everyone’s been acting weird recently,” Lydia continued, basically ignoring Clark’s comment. “Jamie’s been obsessed with ghosts, Jackson’s been obsessed with Scott and Scott has, according to Jackson, been acting weird. Ever since the first day back after winter break. Ever since your first day at school,” Lydia finished and Clark couldn’t tell if she was accusing him of _something._ He’d been so focused on ensuring that Jackson didn’t get suspicious of him after developing suspicions towards Scott, that he hadn’t even considered anyone else getting suspicious.

“And Allison’s first day at school,” Clark added casually as he tried to gauge whether Lydia was suspicious of him or whether she was simply commenting on her observations to pass the time and make conversation whilst they were waiting for Jackson.

“True but Allison is one of the few people who hasn’t been acting weird,” Lydia responded.

“And I have?” Clark questioned. “Because I’ve avoided a few questions?”

“That’s not exactly normal behaviour, is it?” Lydia challenged before letting out a small sigh, “It would be nice for everyone around me to stop acting so weird. Jackson seems more interested in Scott half the time and Jamie is doing my head in with all his ghost talk.”

“You want to know the reason I avoid all those questions about me?” Clark asked rhetorically with no intent to give her the chance to answer him. “Because my answers would not be what everyone would expect. My life isn’t normal. It’s _crazy_ and _weird_ and…” He sighed before deciding to be as honest as he could be with her, “and, honestly, it’s kind of dark and gloomy and not ideal for lunch time conversation.”

Lydia stayed silent, apparently unsure how to respond and Clark was momentarily thrown off because he was far from used to a speechless Lydia. From his one-week snapshot impression of her, he thought she would always have something to say. “ _But_ since we are in a hospital which is essentially the creator of doom and gloom,” Clark started light-heartedly, receiving the slightest of smiles from Lydia as a result. It looked to be more of a sympathy smile than a normal smile - and Clark usually hated sympathy because what did sympathy do? - but he let it slide because he felt bad for the turn he had made the conversation take. Even if she had been the one pushing for him to talk about himself. He doubted she was prepared for how dark he could take it; not that he was going to. “Peter is the name of my uncle. He’s the only survivor of the house fire. And he’s been in a coma for six years.”

Lydia stared at him with a sympathy-filled expression that Clark knew far too well and hated so much. “I’m sorry,” she apologised, surprising Clark with how genuine it came out. From the Queen Bee attitude that Clark so regularly saw at school did not match with the genuine apology that he had received. Lydia Martin, it appeared, had more layers than she was willing to let on.

“What are you apologising for? It wasn’t your fault,” Clark told her curtly. It was another one of his pet hates; people hearing about the things that happened in his past and instantly apologising when they had nothing to do with it and like the word ‘I’m sorry’ were going to change anything.

“No. I’m sorry for pushing you into telling me that,” Lydia corrected him.

“I don’t do things that I don’t want to do. You didn’t push me into anything,” Clark told her. “I told you because I don’t want you thinking I’m avoiding answering things about myself to put on some kind of ‘new mysterious guy’ act or because I’m trying to cover something up,” _Even though I am,_ Clark added on mentally, “I do it to avoid killing the mood and to avoid all the ridiculous sympathy and apologies that don’t do anything.”

“Yeah, I can understand that,” Lydia replied with a slight nod.

“Yep. Mood killer.” Clark repeated, the slight awkwardness between the two teenagers who had no idea what to say to each other next proving his point very well.

They both sat in silence for a few seconds before Clark quipped, “And it takes a lot to kill the doom and gloom mood of a hospital.”

Lydia and Clark shared a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter was not expected. 
> 
> It came out of nowhere at about 2am. 
> 
> I have pre-made notes for each episode of rough scenes (which scenes from the show Clark is going to be in and notes of additional in between scenes) and nothing of this chapter was pre-planned.
> 
> And yet a lot of the things covered in this chapter will impact quite heavily on later chapters.
> 
> I started this chapter intending to write a scene between Clark and Derek at the hospital (which will now take place elsewhere and be different in tone) and it spiralled into this. 
> 
> I’d love to hear any thoughts on this chapter!


	12. Superheroes

Clark got Lydia to drop him off at the preserve, making some nonsense up about how he wanted to jog home. In reality, after the long day that he’d had, Clark had no interest in running, he didn’t even feel like the long walk he had to the house, but he knew that getting Lydia to drop him off outside the fire-damaged house would lead to a lot more questions than he wanted to answer. Clark waited until the car lights had disappeared from light before turning and beginning his trek.

He could hear police dogs in the distance. The talk around school was that they still hadn’t found half of a body that joggers had discovered out in the woods over a week ago. He thought they would have given up their search after being so unsuccessful but, from the number of dogs he could hear out in force, he assumed a clue had been found to reinvigorate the case.

Clark wasn’t concerned about the dogs. He could easily avoid them on his walk to the house. He strolled in the direction of the house as if he was taking a pleasant walk in the park, taking in the sight of trees… trees… and more trees. His hearing focused on keeping track of where the dogs were, the ring of his phone so close by was especially loud and made Clark jump. He hastily retrieved the phone from his pocket, turning the sound down before taking a look at the caller ID: _unknown._

Clark momentarily considered ignoring it but the curiosity of who was calling resulted in him pressing the button to accept the call. He moved the phone to his ear, more than ready to hang up if it was some nonsense sales pitch or scam call. “Hello?” He answered.

 _“Clark?”_ The voice on the phone sounded familiar but Clark couldn’t place it from one word. He could tell, however, that the caller wasn’t completely confident that they had the right number.

“Who wants to know?” Clark responded.

“ _It’s Stiles.”_ The fellow teenager spoke as if it should have been obvious.

Clark paused. He didn’t remember giving Stiles - or Scott - his number. “How did you get my number?”

“ _I called Danny.”_

“You called Danny just to get my number from him?” Clark spoke incredulously, knowing full well he was being hypocritical after he’d received both Scott and Stiles’ address by phoning Danny. Stiles, however, didn’t know that so he allowed himself to be as judgemental towards him as he wanted to be.

“ _No. I called Danny thinking he’d know what the latest is on Jackson,”_ Stiles corrected. _“He hadn’t heard anything but said you went to the hospital with him.”_

“You’re calling me to find out how Jackson is,” Clark surmised.

 _“Yes.”_ Stiles confirmed, his ‘isn’t-that-obvious’ tone coming out again.

“Since when did you care about Jackson?” Clark questioned.

 _“I don’t.”_ Stiles’ response was blunt. _“But it was my best friend who injured him-”_

Clark cut him off. “Shit,” he swore. He’d been so caught up with Jackson and the hospital that he had completely forgotten about Scott’s involvement. “Did he lose control?” His thoughts flashbacked to his first lacrosse trial when he’d almost lost control. Lacrosse and werewolves did not seem to be a good mix.

_“He tried to kill me.”_

“Well, the key word there is _tried_ ,” Clark responded with a fake optimism.

 _“Yeah and if he plays the game on Wednesday, he going to try to kill again. Lacrosse is kind of a violent game. It’s going to get him angry and trigger the change,”_ Stiles replied.

“Then stop him from playing the game,” Clark retorted. Now that really was obvious.

 _“Easier said than done. Scott was determined to make first line. He didn’t look convince when I told him he couldn’t play Wednesday,”_ Stiles responded.

“Convince him.” Clark insisted in a tone which told Stiles not to argue with him. Nothing good could come of Scott playing that game. “And then make sure you get lots of practice in yourself. With Scott out and Jackson’s separated shoulder looking like it’s going to force him out, there’s going to be two spaces up for grabs for that game. Jake’s obviously got the first spot but the second one’s up for grabs.”

_“I really think you should teach Scott what you know about control. I know you’re not a Jedi master but anything is better than-”_

The sound of dogs barking behind him gained Clark’s attention. Stiles was still talking on the phone but Clark was no longer paying him any attention. He turned slowly to find himself face to face with three dogs, three deputies and a sheriff who definitely didn’t look impressed. “Uh… Stiles. I’ve got to go,” Clark cut off Stiles’ rambling on the phone and promptly ended the call.

When he looked back up at the law enforcement officers after putting his phone in his pocket, the Sheriff’s unimpressed look had been replaced by a knowing look. “Did Stiles put you up to this?”

“You know Stiles?” Clark answered the Sheriff’s question with his own, doing his best to distract the man whilst he hurriedly tried to find a reasonable excuse for being on the preserve after dark.

“He’s my son,” the Sheriff revealed, “who has a tendency to get himself and his friends right into the middle of police business.”

“He’s not my friend. Just an acquaintance through school,” Clark told him. “He’s got nothing to do with this. Have you got a lead on the dead girl case? Is that why you’re out here again?”

“You’re not the one in the position to be asking questions, son,” the Sheriff reminded him his tone firm but a friendlier expression on his face. “Now, if my son didn’t put you up to this, why are you out here?”

“The fire-damaged house in that direction?” Clark responded, waving his hand in the direction that he had been walking in. “It’s my family’s. Ever since me and my brother came back, he’s been trying to fix it up a bit. I was heading there to meet him.”

“You’re Clark,” the Sheriff stated.

Clark was momentarily unnerved that the Sheriff knew his name until he remembered his connection with Stiles. “Stiles mentioned me?” He realised, surprised that Stiles had even mentioned him to his dad. The only conversations that they’d had were focused on werewolves, giving Stiles very little to say about him to his dad.

The Sheriff nodded but, frustratingly, did not give Clark any information as to the context in which Stiles had mentioned him. “I’ll get one of the deputies to walk you to your brother. Next time, get him to pick you up. I wouldn’t say it’s safe out here at this time.”

* * *

“Clark!” Derek’s harsh voice woke the younger Hale with a start, the way in which Derek had said his name suggesting it was not his first attempt to wake him. Clark opened his eyes with a groan to find his face pressed against the passenger window of Derek’s black Camaro. He frowned, barely remembering getting into the car whilst in a half-asleep zombified state. Outside the window, students were gathering together in their friendship groups ahead of another day at school. The drive from the house to the school had been over in seconds, as far as Clark was aware.

Clark sat up straight in the passenger seat, stifling a yawn as his hand rubbed the back of his neck which felt stiff from the position he had been sleeping in. Derek was watching him suspiciously. “Bad night?” He asked.

The last thing that Clark needed, on top of his brother being on his case about Scott, was his brother being on his case about the nightmares he’d had _every single night_ without fail since the night before they returned to their hometown. “No. Not really,” Clark denied, his head scrambling for an excuse. He needed to get a lot better at lying. Cora wasn’t there to help him like she had been when Derek had questioned him for talking to himself in the school parking lot. “I was awake thinking a lot last night,” Clark spoke slowly, giving himself time to find a valid excuse and then it hit him; play to Derek’s ego to distract him, “about how you were right. You warned me that I was too distracted by my friends at the party and I basically ignored you at practice yesterday and Scott nearly killed Stiles.”

“Good to know we’re on the same page,” Derek responded with the slightest hints of a smile.

“The page about me babysitting Scott?” Clark asked to confirm that they were actually on the same page, even if Clark was reluctantly on it.

“Yes, and specifically making sure he drops out of the game this morning,” Derek explained further.

“What makes you think _I_ can even convince him? You didn’t see how ecstatic he was to make first line,” Clark challenged.

The slightest flicker of amusement crossed Derek’s face before he replied, “He shouldn’t need convincing.”

Clark closed his eyes slowly, as he resigned himself to the fact that Derek had taken matters into his own hands. Derek wasn’t exactly known for his calm and level-headed methods. He sighed before opening his eyes again and reluctantly asking, through slightly gritted teeth, “What did you do?”

“I paid him a visit to tell him not to play the game Wednesday night,” Derek answered with a shrug. Clark responded with a pointed look, knowing full well that there was more to the story that Derek wasn’t telling him. “I threatened his life as a motivator.”

“Oh _perfect,_ ” Clark muttered sarcastically. “First you have, what has been described from their perspective, a creepy first meeting in the woods where you inexplicably have possession of Scott’s inhaler and _then_ you threaten to murder Scott?”

“I’m not going to murder him,” Derek felt the need to clarify.

“I know you’re not actually going to murder him!” Clark exclaimed out of exasperation. He knew, despite the blue eyes that Derek had, that his brother wasn’t a murderer. “Yet you still expect him to trust me after that?”

“He doesn’t need to trust you. You just need to keep an eye on him,” Derek countered. “You’ve made it clear that you don’t want to befriend him.”

“Yeah. And you should know why,” Clark responded as he grabbed his bag from the back seat. “I’ll make sure he talks to Coach,” Clark told Derek with a sigh before getting out of the car.

* * *

Clark stood by the bike rack at the front of the school, leaning against a nearby tree with his arms folded as he waited for Scott to show up. His eyes were trained on the entrance into the parking lot, waiting expectantly for Scott to cycle in. Whilst he was waiting, he found himself watching a steady stream of cars entering and exiting, the repetitive movement making his eyelids heavy.

His eyes were all-but closed when a familiar voice made him snap them open. “You look terrible.” Cora was stood opposite him, studying him and taking in his dishevelled appearance; the messy bed-head hair, his dark eyes, and the clothes which looked like they were thrown together without a care. “Did you even sleep last night?”

“I got a couple of hours. No thanks to you,” Clark replied, visibly confusing Cora with that statement as she frowned. “Do you think you can stop with the haunting nightmares now that I can see and talk to you?”

“I have nothing to do with haunting nightmares,” Cora informed him.

“Really?” Clark questioned in surprise. He had been confident that the nightmares had been the started of Cora trying to break through and contact him.

“Nothing to do with me.” Cora confirmed again, a look of concern on her face, “Why? Are they about me?”

Clark scoffed. “Don’t flatter yourself!” He played it off with a laugh. “It’s the standard kind of nightmares. Like being chased by something you can’t see.”

“No one can see me,” Cora countered, “Except you.”

“That was a bad example!” Clark returned. “I’m not dreaming about my ghostly sister.”

“Hey Kent!” Clark stiffened at the name as the familiar English accent brought him back to what was happening around him. Jamie was approaching him, an oblivious smile on his face, unaware that he had interrupted Clark’s conversation with his ghost of a sister who - when Clark glanced back to where she’d been standing - had disappeared.

“Don’t call me that,” Clark responded harshly.

Jamie’s smile faltered as he slowed his approach towards Clark and the tree, taken aback by his friend’s tone. “It’s just a nickname,” Jamie defended himself as he stopped a few feet from Clark and the tree. “I like giving people nicknames. Kyle is Ky or Anders, Danny has _loads_ , Jackson doesn’t really like them but when I catch him in a good mood-” Jamie caught himself beginning to ramble and proceeded to get back on topic, “You can’t really shorten the name Clark but we’ve had those debates against different superheroes and since your name is the alias of-”

“Don’t. Say it.” Clark insisted, speaking through gritted teeth.

Jamie, completely oblivious to Clark’s irritation, ignored him, “Superman it makes sense. It is kind of a stretch but it’s cool, right?”

Jamie smiled enthusiastically at Clark who did not share his enthusiasm. Instead, it looked as if Clark was doing his best not to glare at him. “No.” Clark answered bluntly, shifting his eyes to glance at the entrance of the parking lot. He couldn’t believe he was _actually_ hoping that Scott would arrive soon.

Jamie’s smile had gone again, “You don’t like Superman?”

“No.” Clark answered with the same shortness as his previous ‘no’.

“But Superman is one of the best superheroes,” Jamie sounded utterly confused at the premise of someone not liking a fictional character. “Unless you’re one of those people who think he’s too overpowered.”

“Stop talking about Superman,” Clark growled.

“How can Superman get you this worked up?” Jamie questioned with a laugh, not taking Clark’s irritation seriously. They were, after all, talking about a fictional character.

Clark had heard the word ‘superman’ far too many times in such a short period of time. He stepped forward menacingly, a snarl escaping his partly separated lips, and grabbed Jamie by his black hoodie. In a second, he had the other teenager slammed up against the tree and his usual brown eyes were a bright yellow.

Before he had a chance to say or do anything, he was pulled by a strong force from behind him, forcing him into a nearby bush to maintain some kind of cover. Using his strength, Clark overpowered the attacker on top of him, pushing him over and turning the tables so that is attacker was the one lying in the mud.

The surprise of seeing the identity of the attacker beneath him eradicated the anger that had momentarily overcame him. “Scott?” He commented. He definitely hadn’t seen him cycle through the entrance.

“What were you _doing?_ ” Scott hissed, staring at him wide-eyed before pushing Clark off him. The two boys got to their feet and Scott emerged from the bush with his hair equally as messy as Clark’s. Both of their clothes were complete with mud stains.

“You’re the one who pushed _me_ in the bush!” Clark retorted as he ran a hand through his hair to remove the twigs and leaves that had stuck to him.

“You had Jamie against the tree!” Scott reminded him. Clark’s eyes went wide as he recalled his momentarily lapse in control. His eyes shot to the tree, picturing a nervous Jamie to be stood there staring at him. Instead, Clark found that Jamie was gone, having presumably ran off as soon as Scott had intervened. That was going to be a fun one to try and explain. “It looked like you’d lost control,” Scott spoke accusingly.

Clark grabbed his bag, which Scott had knocked off him at some point between the tree and the bush, off the floor and shouldered it onto his back. “I’m not the one with the control issues. You are,” he responded to Scott, denying everything.

“You said it yourself yesterday. You’ve not long learned control,” Scott began to argue.

Clark stopped him before he could go any further, “Key word. _Learned._ As in have done.”

“Then what was that about?” Scott persisted, indicating back towards the tree as Clark began to stalk away, heading for the school building.

“ _That_ was nothing. Forget about it,” Clark responded dismissively as Scott followed him. “You should be more concerned about what _you_ did to Jackson yesterday. And what you nearly did to Stiles.”

“And what you nearly did to Jamie?” Scott began to challenge him confidently but lost that confidence midway through his sentence when Clark shot him a dark glare.

“I wasn’t going to do anything to Jamie,” Clark insisted, not liking the idea of explaining himself to Scott. “I was shutting him up.”

“By threatening him,” Scott added, a hint of realisation in his voice. “I see that runs in the family.”

Clark stopped to turn on Scott and it took everything he had to ignore the urge to push the other teenager against the nearest tree. He was heavily sleep deprived and irritation came all too easily for him when sleep did not. “For the record, I had nothing to do with Derek threatening you,” Clark stated, “I do agree that you should not play the game tomorrow night. Which is why I’m making sure you tell Coach you’re not playing right now.”

* * *

The walk from the school parking lot to Coach’s office had consisted of many attempts from Scott to address the reasons for the altercation between Jamie and Clark, all of which had been ignored by Clark who had maintained a silence the whole time. He needed to think about how he was going to explain it all to Jamie, not worry about explaining himself to some new werewolf who had no idea what was going on.

Clark and Scott found Coach encouraging some freshman to transfer his interest in lacrosse over to soccer in his own supportive way. Clark remembered seeing the kid at the trials and he had been far from good. He wasn’t taking the news very well, however.

“Coach!” Clark called as he approached him, interrupting the teacher’s interaction with the freshman to which both looked somewhat relieved.

“What do you two want?” Coach questioned, his attention transferred fully to Clark and Scott as the freshman left with a sigh.

“It’s actually what Scott wants,” Clark prompted as the two followed Coach through the door into the boys changing room. Clark glanced at Scott and received a look which read ‘ _no it isn’t’._ “Scott can’t play the game tomorrow night,” Clark informed Coach after Scott was so reluctant to tell him himself.

“What does he mean, you can’t play the game tomorrow night?” Coach questioned Scott specifically as he opened the door which lead into his office. Clark allowed Scott to follow him in behind before he took up the rear himself.

“I mean…” Scott hesitated as Clark shut the door behind them. The noise of the door shutting behind him gave Scott the opportunity to glance around, hoping that Clark had decided to wait outside for him. Instead, he found that Clark had followed them in and raised an eyebrow at him as if to say ‘ _I’m waiting’._ “I can’t play the game tomorrow night.”

After Scott told Coach exactly what he had told Coach, Clark turned to the man to gauge his reaction to the news that he was losing another of his best players. Needless to say, Coach did not look impressed. He was sat on his desk, arms folded and looking at Scott with wide eyes. “You can’t _wait_ to play the game tomorrow night!” He corrected with confident optimism.

“No, Coach. I _can’t_ play the game tomorrow night,” Scott insisted with a hint of irritation in his voice.

There was a beat before Coach replied, “I’m not following.”

Clark sighed in exasperation. Why did everyone in Beacon Hills have to make everything so difficult? He never thought he’d think it but Clark missed his old school. It was dull and mundane but growing more and more appealing as each day in Beacon Hills went by.

“I’m having some… personal issues,” Scott explained vaguely.

“Is it a girl?” Coach inquired.

“No.” Scott answered simply but insistently.

“Is it a _guy_?” Coach amended his question and Clark spotted his eyes momentarily move in his direction. Clark knew the rumor of the ‘new gay guy’ had spread amongst students pretty quickly, he didn’t realise it had reached the teachers within his first week. Clark wasn’t sure he felt comfortable with the assumption Coach had appeared to make. “You know, our goalie, Danny, is gay-”

“Yeah, I know, Coach,” Scott cut him off impatiently. “But that’s not it.”

If Clark was learning anything about his lacrosse Coach from the interaction he was watching, it was that he was very good at taking things off topic, “You don’t think Danny’s a good-looking guy?”

“I… think’s he good-looking. I-” The turn at which Coach had taken the conversation had completely confused Scott who was stumbling over his response. Clark watched Scott getting flustered in amusement. “But I-I like girls! And that’s not it, anyway. I-I-”

“What? Is it drugs?” Coach’s next assumption lead the conversation on a whole other tangent. Clark groaned in frustration as Coach continued, “Because I had a brother that was addicted to meth. You should have seen what it did to his teeth! They were all cracked and rotted. It was - it was _disgusting._ ”

Scott’s concern was evident in his voice, “My God. What happened to him?”

 _Perfect._ Clark thought. _Now he’s distracted and all._ Clark rolled his eyes.

“He got veneers,” Coach answered like it was obvious before hastily making his latest assumption, “Is-is that what this is about? Are you afraid of getting hurt, McCall.”

“No…” Scott answered hesitantly and there was a hint of reluctance in his voice as he continued, “I’m… having some issues… dealing with aggression.”

“Well here’s the good news! That’s why you play lacrosse! Problem solved,” Coach replied, content with his response.

“Problem not solved,” Clark insisted with a low mutter.

Scott sighed, “Coach, I can’t play the game tomorrow night.”

“Listen. McCall,” Coach spoke firmly, standing up from his sitting position on his desk and stepping into Scott’s personal space. “Part of playing first line is taking on the responsibility of being first line. Now, if you can’t shoulder that responsibility, then you’re back on the bench until you’re ready.”

“If I don’t play the game, you’re taking me off first line?” Scott surmised in disbelief.

“Oh, perfect,” Clark muttered sarcastically to himself. Convincing Scott not to play one game took a death threat. Convincing Scott to step down from first line might take a whole lot more.

“McCall… _play the game,_ ” Coach insisted before turning to Clark. “Hale, make sure he’s there.” Without waiting for any arguments from the two teenagers, Coach left his office leaving both Scott and Clark to stare after him in disbelief.

As the office door swung shut again, Clark immediately turned to Scott, “You _are not_ playing that game.”

“I’m _not_ losing first line,” Scott insisted. “Do you know how hard I worked to make it?”

“You didn’t work hard for it!” Clark exclaimed. “You got bit. You got enhance strength, speed and agility. You used that to make first line!”

“I would have made it without the bite,” Scott argued.

“Right. Which is why you spent the last year and a half on the bench!” Clark countered with a scoff of disbelief.

“I worked all break for this. Before I got the bite. I had improved.” Scott continued to insist, sounding adamant.

“Whatever. The reality is, you got bit. Lacrosse makes you lose control. You. Can’t. Play.” Clark laid out the facts in as simple terms as he could manage. Perhaps then, Scott would understand.

* * *

Clark’s head dropped onto his math textbooks in a mixture of boredom and confusion. Nothing in the textbook made any sense. He would go have gone as far as to say it was like trying to learn another language but learning French was so much easier than getting his head around Math. He couldn’t understand what he would ever need Math for. He had no idea what he wanted to do after graduating but he sure as hell wasn’t going to be an accountant so, as far as he was concerned, he was wasting his time with the entire subject.

“That’s an interesting study technique,” Clark recognised Danny’s voice and slowly lifted his head to see the other teenager stood in front of the table he had set himself up at. He had a look of amusement on his face. “I might have to try it sometime.”

“Yeah? It’s the ‘I-hate-this-subject-what-is-even-the-point-in-trying’ study technique,” Clark informed him with a smile. He paused before adding, “It’s one I use for far too many of my classes.” He picked up the math textbook. “And one I use every time I pick up this stupid thing,” he muttered bitterly before dropping the book back on the table, an odd feeling of satisfaction hitting him when the book hit the table with a loud bang.

The librarian was not so satisfied, shooting a glare in Clark’s direction. That was when Clark added ‘Librarian’ to the list of jobs that he didn’t want to do. “Do you mind if I join you?” Danny asked, pointing to the chair he was stood in front of. “I could help you with your math problem?”

Clark indicated to the chair with a nod, “Be my guest.” Danny smiled appreciatively and took a seat, dumping his own books on the table quietly enough not to earn a death glare from the librarian. “And it’s problems. Plural.”

“We’ve got some work to do then,” Danny commented. “Where do you want to start?”

“I have no idea.” Clark responded with a shrug. He eyed the math book with a glare which could rival the librarian’s death glare before reaching for it and opening to a random page. “Let’s start here,” he said decisively, glancing down at the page to find a mixture of numbers and letters. “Oh _perfect._ Algebra. This is just stupid. Whose idea was it to mix numbers and letters together?”

Danny chuckled, taking a brief look at the page. “In these equations, the letter stands for a number. You’re meant to work out what number the letter represents,” Danny explained. “It’s kind of like a puzzle.”

Danny proceeded to talk Clark through a number of the equations, his explanations making a lot more sense than his math teacher’s. It was a lot easier to listen to Danny’s voice than the droning of his teacher’s. Danny explained it slower, as well, leaving time for Clark to get his head around it and highlighting where he went wrong without patronising him. The two’s victory celebrations after Clark successfully worked out ‘x’ independently on the sixth question was cut short by the hushing and death glare of the librarian.

Danny sent an apologetic look in the direction of the librarian before turning back to Clark, smiling triumphantly. “See! You can do it!” He commented encouragingly.

“Just about,” Clark agreed with a shrug, “I still don’t understand why anyone would _ever_ use it in the real world though.”

“There you are, Clark!” Clark was more than surprised to hear the cheerful and friendly voice of Jamie calling out to him as he approached the table. He turned, not even needing to look at the librarian to tell Jamie was on the receiving end of her death glare, to find Jamie walking towards them, a smile on his face and a mountain of books in his arms. Jamie took a seat at the table next to Clark, apparently unphased by the incident that morning and Clark didn’t know whether to be happy or concerned about his reaction. “I’ve been looking for you for hours!”

“It’s only second period. We’ve barely been here hours,” Clark responded, doing his best to act natural in front of Danny whilst subtly sending Jamie questioning looks. Jamie’s disregard for the morning’s events were making him feel particularly uncomfortable. Even if he hadn’t spotted the change in his eye color, a normal person would have a lot of complaints about being shoved up against a tree in the manner in which Clark had done.

“I thought you took a sick day,” Danny commented from across the table. “You weren’t in first period.”

Clark frowned at that news. He knew that Jamie had arrived at school with plenty of time to spare before first period. “Why didn’t you go to class?” He asked.

“I was in here. Researching,” Jamie responded with an excited grin. Clark’s eyes fell onto the mountain of books that Jamie had placed on the table in front of him. A quick glance at the titles revealed that all the books had one thing in common; they were about ghosts and spirits.

“Researching what?” Danny questioned, evidently not paying attention to the books that Jamie had joined them with.

“Ghosts,” Jamie answered enthusiastically, completely oblivious to how crazy his friends found his new obsession with ghosts. “I think Clark was possessed by one this morning!”

For the second time in his free period, Clark’s head dropped onto his math textbook. For once, it wasn’t because he couldn’t understand the contents of the book. It was because Jamie was rambling to Danny all about how he could see ghosts and despite the number of times Clark insisted to Jamie that it was just one ghost, the excitable teen insisted on pluralising it.

* * *

For the second time in as many hours, Jamie found himself shoved up against something with Clark’s tight grip threatening to ruin his favorite hoodie. This time, Clark was in control of himself - even if Jamie’s actions had been even more irritating than that morning - and his brown eyes were shooting daggers at Jamie. “What the hell are you thinking!” Clark hissed, popping his head around the side of the bookshelf he’d pushed Jamie against to check that Danny hadn’t left from the craziness. Danny was still sat at the table, his focus on his own chemistry textbook.

“I don’t know if you even knew but your eyes turned like a yellowy gold earlier so I thought it wouldn’t harm to miss one lesson to find out why. And I think a ghost possessed you,” Jamie theorised, earning a bewildered look from Clark.

“I didn’t mean skipping first period!” Clark exclaimed, finding it really difficult to keep his voice low with how infuriatingly oblivious and clueless Jamie was being about the entire situation. “I mean telling Danny about the ghost thing!”

“Every superhero has sidekicks!” Jamie’s excitement was so high he didn’t seem to care that his friend had him backed up against a bookshelf. “Batman has Robin and Alfred-”

Clark hastily cut him off before he could start listing, “What have superheroes got to do with this?”

“Seeing ghosts is like your superpower! You’re a superhero!” Jamie exclaimed.

Clark had to close his eyes and count to ten. The concept of superheroes seemed especially childish but as he got closer to ten, he realised ‘supernatural creatures are real’ would come across equally unrealistic. Besides, Jamie’s superhero and ‘you got possessed by a ghost’ explanations prevented him from having to explain the earlier incident. Clark decided to go along with it. “Fine,” he agreed reluctantly as he opened his eyes again. He loosened his grip on Jamie’s hoodie and took a step back, allowing Jamie to straighten himself up as Clark continued. “This is like my origin story or whatever,” Clark muttered, keeping his voice extremely low because he felt lame as he spoke, “But superheroes have alias’ to protect them and their friends so: Stop. Telling. People.” Clark enunciated the final three words to make sure Jamie heard him loud and clear.

“You want to keep it a secret?” Jamie realised.

“We hardly even know _what_ this is,” Clark pointed out, “So, yes, keep it between us.”


	13. Laura

Jackson hadn’t been in school all day, claiming that the pain in his shoulder was too much to allow him to concentrate in his classes. Clark had called him after school to check up on him and that was how - for the second day in a row - he found himself sat on the uncomfortable waiting chairs in the hospital next to Lydia. Despite missing a day of school due to the pain, Jackson was adamant that he was still playing the game the following day. Jackson was sure all he needed was a cortisone shot. Clark had his doubts but he didn’t bother raising them. There was no arguing with Jackson. If he had his mind set on something, he did it. At least Clark had the ‘hypocritical’ card available to pull out on Jackson the next time he complained about Scott being on steroids.

Clark wasn’t sure how he had let Jackson talk him into meeting him at the hospital. The previous day’s visit had done very little to change Clark’s opinion of hospitals; they were still creepy to him. But Jackson had been adamant that he should meet him at the hospital so to discuss plans for the game the following day after he had gotten his shot.

The hospital wasn’t as busy as it had been on Monday. There’d been no serious car accidents which meant no scenes of people with horrific injuries being wheeled through the corridor. Just another reason Clark didn’t like hospitals. He didn’t do blood. His injuries healed before he had to deal with much blood. The humans who used the hospitals did not share that ability and the sights he’d seen the previous day were unpleasant enough to make him queasy.

Lydia had her phone out and her headphones stuck in her ears, not interested in making any conversation. Clark couldn’t really blame her after the dark turn that their previous conversation in a hospital had taken. Clark’s own phone would beep every now and then but was nothing intriguing enough to gain his attention for long. Each message he received was from Jamie with another stupid sounding superhero name suggestion. They were so ridiculous that Clark resorted to muting his phone and pocketing it. He’d deal with Jamie’s texts when he had time to work out how to curb his enthusiasm. Jamie was getting far too invested in the whole ghost thing and Clark was extremely regretting confirming his suspicions. He should have kept it to himself but he had expected Jamie to be more help than he actually was.

With Lydia ignoring him - too busy laughing and talking away to one of her girl friends on her phone - and his own phone essentially turned off, Clark had nothing to do whilst they waited. He found himself staring at one of the boring white walls Jackson had been complaining about. Clark wasn’t good at sitting and doing nothing; he got bored. Especially after a whole day of sitting in class and doing nothing whilst listening absent-mindedly to his various teachers as they droned on.

Lydia was too preoccupied to care much about his presence so Clark stood up, making a decision to locate a vending machine just so he had something to _do,_ and set off down the corridor without a word to the girl.

After one left turn, Clark found the vending machines down a hallway that look exactly the same as the one he’d come from; the only difference was the lack of a desk and waiting area. It was worrying to Clark that hospitals were so maze-like. It seemed far too easy to get lost in one. He was more than glad that he didn’t have to wander too far to find the vending machines. Getting lost in a hospital was once his worst nightmare - until he was ten years old and the fire nightmares had started haunting him.

“You again!” No other than Melissa McCall pulled Clark’s attention away from the selection of snacks and drinks available at the overpriced hospital vending machine. “Don’t tell me. Another lacrosse injury?” Her assumption was underlined by the slightest hint of dread in her otherwise light-hearted tone. With Scott’s upcoming first lacrosse game, Clark could understand her concern.

“No, no,” Clark corrected hastily. From the few interactions that he’d had with Scott’s mom she seemed liked a nice person; he didn’t want to needlessly worry her. If things went the way he and Derek were planning - not that they ever really did - Scott wouldn’t be playing. If things didn’t go the way he and Derek were planning - which always seemed the safer option to bet on - and Scott _did_ play, it wouldn’t be Scott getting hurt. “It’s the same injury as yesterday. He’s just… it’s just playing him up.”

* * *

Scott and Stiles parted ways at the morgue door; Scott disappearing through the doors to the morgue and leaving Stiles on look-out duty. Stiles mind was racing with their latest discoveries. The knowledge that the other half of the body was quite possibly buried on the Hale property both excited and concerned him at the same time. Scott was adamant that both Derek and Clark were in on it. Stiles wasn’t so sure. Picturing Derek as a murderer came disturbingly easily with the few, somewhat creepy, interactions he’d had with the older man. Clark was harder Stiles tried to put that down to the fact that he’d seen the teenager doing normal things; answering questions in class, playing lacrosse and sitting with friends at lunch. It could be that Clark was better at hiding his darker side but the way Clark had proclaimed that Derek was no murder was so genuine that Stiles had to consider whether the younger Hale was completely oblivious.

Stiles backed away from the morgue door, trying to avoid making it obvious that he was standing guard outside it. His hand was in his pocket, firmly gripping his phone in case he needed to phone Scott to warn him. He awkwardly approached the front desk, trying his best to act casual; like he had a reason for being there other than ‘my best friend is sneaking into your morgue because we might have discovered a murderer.

He nodded to a woman he passed as he gained on the desk and revealing a small waiting area to the left of the front desk. Stiles had to do a double take when he spotted Lydia sitting on one of the chairs a few feet from where he was stood. He leaned on the front desk, taking a few seconds to compose himself before building up the courage to approach her.

He took the three steps between the front desk and the seats she was sat at slowly, all the while having to convince himself not to back out. If Scott could make first line, he could talk to Lydia. Reaching a stop, Stiles put his arm against the wall, leaning against it as casually as he could. “Hey Lydia,” he greeted, his voice betraying him slightly and making his nerves more obvious than he’d intended. She did turn to face him, however, so at least he’d effectively gained her attention. “You probably don’t remember me. Um, I sit behind you in Biology,” Stiles told her. Lydia fiddled with her hair as her eyes shifted to her right, a slightly puzzled look on her face as it appeared she was trying to recall seeing him before.

“Uh, anyway,” Stiles continued when Lydia didn’t appear to have any intention in responding to him, despite continuing to look in his direction. At the same time, Stiles caught himself fiddling nervously with his green plaid shirt and hastily put a stop to that. “I always thought we had this kind of _connection_ ,” Stiles admitted, receiving a puzzled expression from Lydia. “Unspoken, of course,” he hurriedly amended, earning a positive smile and somewhat absent-minded nodding from Lydia. Progress, at least when compared to the puzzled expression from seconds before. “Maybe it’d be cool to… get to know each other a little better,” Stiles proposed, feeling his heartbeat increase rapidly after saying that.

Everything, minus his heartrate, seemed to go into slow motion as Stiles waited for some kind of response from Lydia. “Hold on, give me a second,” Lydia finally spoke but Stiles’ heart dropped when she pushed her hair behind her ear, revealing that she wasn’t talking to him but rather to someone through a Bluetooth earpiece. When she did speak to him, it wasn’t the response Stiles had expected in his head, “Yeah, I didn’t get any of what you just said. Is it worth repeating?”

Lydia was looking at Stiles expectantly but the moment had passed and any confidence he did have when he managed to force the words out had gone. “Uhhhh… no,” Stiles replied awkwardly, ready to make a hasty retreat round the corner and closer to the morgue, a retreat that was only encouraged further when he caught sight of Clark Hale further down the hallway, making his approach with a can of coca-cola and a packet of m&ms. Whilst he had his doubts that Clark knew anything about the murder that his brother was covering up, ‘innocent until proven guilty’ was not very encouraging when watching a potential murderer walking towards him. Stiles stumbled back around the corner and out of sight of both Lydia and Clark. He stared at the morgue doors; the sooner they opened and Scott returned, the better.

Clark, meanwhile, reached Lydia as she was putting her Bluetooth earpiece back into her ear. From the other side of the hallway, he had seen her talking to someone but wasn’t quite able to make out who it was. The awkward stumbling away gave him some kind of idea. “Was that Stiles?” Clark asked Lydia, glancing in the direction that Stiles had disappeared.

Lydia ignored him, something that had been a constant theme since he had met her at the hospital, leaving Clark trying to work out if he had inadvertently done something to piss her off. She was staring passed him and it was only when she stood up that Clark decided not to worry about Stiles and instead see what Lydia was so interested in. Clark turned around to see Jackson walking towards them, holding his upper right arm with his left hand.

Lydia pushed past Clark, making a point to close the gap between her and Jackson, “Okay. Did he do it?”

“He said not to make a habit of it, but one cortisone shot won’t hurt me.” The way in which Jackson said the words suggested to Clark that he had not been the one who had come up with the idea. In fact, despite making it sound like he was totally up for it on the phone, Jackson did not sound happy about what he had just done. Clark realised that using the ‘hypocritical’ card in the future was probably not a good idea.

“You should get one right before the game too,” Lydia insisted, a comment which was not received well by Jackson who threw his hand down in frustration.

“Or, I don’t know, _don’t play the game_ ,” Clark countered Lydia’s point, earning a glare from her. How many people was he going to have to convince out of playing a lacrosse game? “It’s one game! There’s an entire season ahead of us.”

“The pros do it all the time!” Lydia continued to insist, pushing her point forward within a millisecond of Clark finishing his sentence. “You want to be a little high school amateur?” Clark opened his mouth to counter again but Lydia cheated, using a method she knew full well wouldn’t work for Clark, further closing the gap between her and Jackson as she spoke slowly and seductively, “Or… do you want to go… pro?”

The way in which Lydia was _obviously_ manipulating Jackson infuriated Clark but it was also infuriatingly obvious that Jackson was oblivious. Jackson definitely wasn’t thinking with his head _or_ his heart as he dropped his argument in favor of kissing Lydia, right in the middle of the hospital and right in front of Clark who would much rather be anywhere else.

“Don’t worry about me,” Clark spoke sarcastically as the two made themselves busy exploring each other’s mouths, “You’ve only dragged me to a hospital for the second time in two days when _you,_ Jackson, know full well I don’t like them, for no reason other than to stand here awkwardly third-wheeling whilst you both ignore me and inhale each other’s faces!”

Both were clearly not paying any attention to his ramblings and only broke apart after Clark had shut up and resolved to awkwardly waiting around and feeling out of place as doctors and nurses went about their jobs around them. “Great! Now you’re done with that, can we get out of here?” Clark suggested. “And just so you know,” he added, looking right at Jackson as he spoke, “If you _do_ get that shot before the game, I’m not coming here again. Two days in a row is more than enough. I am _not_ making it three.”

“Quit complaining,” Jackson played his serious statement off with a chuckle. Clark stared at him; he was one to talk about complaining after all the ridiculous complaints he had made about the hospital the previous day. Jackson draped an arm around Lydia and began guiding her down the hallway in the direction of the exit that was closest to where he had parked. “Let’s all get some food. I’m hungry,” Jackson proposed as the two walked ahead of Clark.

Clark began to follow, glancing down at the untouched drink and chocolate he had in his hands. With Jackson making the decision to go somewhere for food, he realised he could save them both for a later date. Clark was a couple of steps behind the couple when he caught a sentence from back near the front desk that made him stop.

_“The scent was the same.”_

Clark’s turned his head back to the front desk. He knew that it was Scott’s voice. He should have known that Scott wouldn’t be too far away when he’d been fairly sure he had seen Stiles talking to Lydia. He’d come to realise that the two were often inseparable. The sentence caught his interest. Scott appeared to be getting used to his new abilities and was using them but using them for _what?_ What scent was the same?

“Clark!” Jackson shout turned Clark’s attention back to Jackson and Lydia; both of whom were starting at him questioningly, no doubt wondering why he had stopped in the middle of the hospital. “Are you coming?”

“Erm…” Clark stalled badly as he turned his head back towards the front desk to zone in on Scott’s conversation once more.

“ _So, he did bury the other half of the body on his property.”_

That wasn’t Scott’s voice. It was Stiles’.

_“Which means we have proof he killed the girl.”_

That was Scott’s.

And it left Clark with a ton of questions. His inquisitive nature was drawing him into whatever Scott and Stiles had found themselves in the middle of. He turned back to Jackson and Lydia, the latter of whom was fiddling with her hair once again, looking impatiently. Clark lifted up the can of coca-cola and the chocolate he had in his hands, drawing their attention to it. “I’m actually sorted for food,” He told them.

Jackson looked ready to argue that chocolate and a fizzy drink was not an appropriate meal for the day before a game. Lydia, however, had only noticed how hungry she was when Jackson had mentioned food. She didn’t want to wait around any longer and when Clark told them he had no plans on joining them, she coaxed Jackson away from his friend after a brief exchange of ‘byes’ and ‘see you tomorrows’.

Clark turned on his heels and made his return to the front desk area, listening in on Stiles and Scott’s conversation as he walked. Stiles was in the middle of a sentence as Clark returned his attention to their interaction.

“ _-because you want to stop further murders, or because you want to play in the game and they said you couldn’t.”_

Clark was confused, not understanding how murders tied in with the upcoming lacrosse game which was causing far too many problems.

_“There are bite marks on the legs, Stiles. Bite marks.”_

_“Okay. Then we’re going to need a shovel.”_

Finally reaching the front desk, Clark rounded the corner to find both boys walking purposefully towards the exit. “Care to fill me in on what you’re up to?” Clark questioned, making his presence known which resulted in both Stiles and Scott halting immediately. Clark watched with a small frown as both boys slowly turned to look at each other, sharing a look that Clark couldn’t see, before finally turning to face him. Stiles looked like he’d just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar whilst Scott was staring at him, as if daring him to try something, heavy judgement evident in his eyes. “…What’s going on?”

“Nothing!” Stiles insisted, far too hastily to be genuine.

“Which is why you were talking about murders, bite marks and a shovel,” Clark listed off. Scott and Stiles shared a confused look. “I was listening in. Enhanced hearing, remember Scott. Now, who killed what girl?”

Scott and Stiles shared another look, through which they must have non-verbally communicated not to say anything for neither showed any interest in answering him when they turned back. “What’s with the distrust?” He sighed. “If there’s bite marks,” Clark hesitated, taking a moment to glance around and take in the nearby doctors and nurses making their rounds of their patients. He took a step towards Scott and Stiles to limit the chances of being overheard. Both teenagers stiffened at his unexpected movement; Stiles let in a sharp breath and Scott adapted his stance, shuffling his feet apart as if he was getting ready to defend himself. “If there’s bite marks, it could mean a werewolf is involved and since you two barely know anything about the world you’ve recently stumbled into, you’d be stupid not to accept my help.”

“We’d be stupid to accept your help,” Scott corrected.

“How did you reach that stupid conclusion?” Clark responded.

“How do you think?” Scott replied with his own question and seemed to genuinely expect Clark to know the answer. Clark stared at him blankly.

Stiles turned to Scott and spoke in a low whisper, “I don’t think he knows.”

“He has to know. It’s right on his doorstep,” Scott whispered back and Clark had to hold back a chuckle. He could feel the tension radiating off the other teenagers and was aware that laughing would only make matters worse. It was still amusing, however, that both Scott and Stiles were clueless to the fact that he could hear them, despite Scott’s own enhanced senses and that Clark had mentioned them moments before.

“He doesn’t have a clue what we’re talking about,” Stiles insisted, continuing with the hushed voices.

Scott maintained his distrust, “Or he’s acting like he doesn’t have a clue to lure us in. Didn’t you say he acted like he didn’t know about werewolves the night of the party?”

“That was purely to find out how much Stiles actually knew,” Clark spoke up and Scott instantly realised what they had done. “Can we get back to the dead body with what are presumably werewolf bites?” Clark prompted the conversation back onto the stuff he wasn’t following. “Ohhhh,” he drew out, a realisation hitting him after posing his question. He looked at Scott accusingly, “I see. You don’t trust me because me and Derek are the only werewolves you know of. You’ve assumed that we’re involved.”

“No. I _know_ you’re involved,” Scott corrected, speaking with confidence. At least Clark understood the reasoning for the heavy judgement from Scott.

“Do you always run around making ridiculous accusations or is this a new thing that’s come with the bite?” Clark replied, a smirk on his face at the absurd claim that Scott had made.

“I know the other half of the body is buried by your house.” Scott told him.

“Let me get this straight. You think I’m involved in a girl’s murder because you’ve found the body buried in the area surrounding the house? The area surrounding the house which is, by the way, covered in trees giving someone cover to dig a six foot grave without being seen. The area which is also a good drive away from any other houses. Because what idiot kills someone and then buries them next to their own house?” Clark challenged, determined to make Scott realise how laughable his accusations were.

“I said _by_ your house,” Scott pointed out. “As in, _right by_. The only people who would bury the body that close to the house are its occupants.”

Clark was having none of it, “If there was a body buried as close as you claim, I’d smell it.”

* * *

Leaving the hospital in Stiles’ jeep had been a big step down from arriving at the hospital in Jackson’s Porsche. There’d been a lot of back and forth between Scott and Clark over the possibility of a dead body being buried by the Hale house. Stiles eventually stepped in, pointing out the only way to find out who was right was to go there. By the time they had left the hospital and stopped by Stiles’ house to collect shovels, it was dark. It was only the beginning of the evening but in winter months, darkness drew in quickly. The majority of the light they had came from the wisps of moonlight breaking through the scattered clouds.

Derek’s car was gone, Clark realised as the jeep pulled up to the house and Stiles’ parked it, coincidentally, in the same place that Derek routinely parked his own car. Clark was disappointed to find his brother was not home; it would have been usual to have him around to side with him on the ridiculousness of Scott - and Stiles’ - accusations. Both Scott and Stiles, meanwhile, were relieved to find the house vacant. Scott had hoped to uncover the body without either of the Hales aware of what they were doing. Stiles, however, was content enough with the one creepy run-in he’d had with Clark’s older brother. Scott’s several other interactions with Derek since then had not sounded any more friendly when Scott had recounted them back to him.

The two doors of the jeep opened around the same time as Scott and Stiles got out. Clark was a little slower exiting the jeep as he had to climb into the front and pull out the three shovels with him. With his hands preoccupied holding onto the shovels, Clark used his right leg to push the door shut, letting it bang shut to illustrate his reluctant involvement in the stupid plan of the other teenagers. The only reason he was there was to see the look on their faces - Scott’s, in particular - when they realised that they were wrong.

Clark shook his head in disbelief that they were actually going through with their plan as he followed after Scott and Stiles who had set off towards the house, “If you’re so sure there’s a dead body-”

“ _Half_ a dead body,” Stiles felt the need to correct him as Clark caught up with the two boys and thrust one of the shovels into Stiles’ arms.

“If you’re so sure that there’s _half a dead body_ ,” Clark started again, amending his sentence to please Stiles, “buried here, then why haven’t you called the police?” Clark shoved the other shovel into Scott’s arms. He was not going to be their lackey. They could carry their own damn shovels.

“We’ve got no proof,” Scott answered him before confidently adding, “Yet.”

“The only evidence we’ve got has come from Scott’s new weird smelling ability,” Stiles clarified further, “My dad wouldn’t buy that.”

“They’d also need a warrant,” Clark pointed out casually. He’d only brought up the question to prove how ridiculous they were being. “This is private property, after all. So if there really was a body here that I didn’t want anyone to find, I would not be coming along to dig it up with you. I would have called the sheriff myself to get you two arrested for trespassing and then used the time between you explaining what you were doing here and them getting a warrant to move the body.”

Stiles glanced at Scott. Clark made sense. If there _was_ a body, he wouldn’t be happily accompanying them to dig it up. “Are you sure about this, Scott?”

“Yes! I smelt it when I was here earlier and it was the same scent as the body in the morgue,” Scott insisted, prompting Clark to take in the smell of the air. He got nothing unusual and certainly not the pungent smell of a rotting dead half-body.

“I can’t smell anything,” Clark spoke up, throwing his spare right hand up and then dropping it to his side in exasperation. “Just dirt and trees and squirrels. Nothing unusual.”

“You said you couldn’t smell it before. What makes you think you could now?” Scott challenged. Clark said nothing in response but put out his right hand, signalling to the air around them and inviting Scott to take in the scent. “Something’s different.”

“Yeah. You’re not imagining the smell of death,” Clark retorted with a huff, stopping to stand right in front of Scott. The two faced each other, sharing looks of irritation. Scott didn’t trust Clark. Clark was fed up with Scott trying to paint him and his brother out to be murderers.

“I didn’t imagine it,” Scott maintained. He knew he was right. There was no way he imagined the exact same scent that he had later picked up from the half of the dead body stored in the morgue. “It was the same scent.”

“There is no scent!” Clark exclaimed, exhausted with Scott’s insistence.

Stiles sighed as Clark and Scott returned to the back and forth bickering that they had gotten themselves into at the hospital. He lifted his shovel up, placing it in the space between the glare-off that Clark and Scott were having, successfully taking their attention off of each other and onto him. “Like I said at the hospital; there’s one simple way to prove or disprove this,” Stiles reminded them. “Let’s get digging.”

Scott hesitated, sending one last look of distrust in Clark’s direction before manoeuvring around the other wolf and continuing his walk towards the all-but destroyed house. Clark watched as Stiles followed after Scott, listening to Stiles make a comment about the house looking too much like a haunted house for his comfort before following after the two friends.

Clark scoffed when Scott reached a stop to the left of the house, planting his shovel into a pile of obviously disturbed soil. As Stiles joined Scott, Clark stopped a few feet away. “Ohhh,” Clark said in realisation, letting out a chuckle as he understood what had happened to make Scott jump to such a dramatic conclusion. “I can’t believe I’m saying this but… you’re right.” There was a flash of ecstatic victory on Scott’s face before quickly distorting into horror. “Don’t panic. You’re not completely right. You’re right in that it’s a grave but not for any murdered girl. It’s a coyote.”

Stiles frowned, briefly glancing at the disturbed soil in confusion before turning back to Clark, “You buried a coyote?”

“No.” Clark protested indignantly upon the judgemental stares he received from both Scott and Stiles. “ _Derek_ buried a coyote.”

“Who buries a coyote?” Scott disputed, not at all convinced. He was still adamant that he was right. No matter how much he wanted to be wrong.

Clark’s head cocked to the left and his brow furrowed. It was subtle, but Scott picked up on the movements. It was as if Clark hadn’t considered that before. “Good point,” Clark admitted reluctantly. He swallowed heavily as his eyes fell on the disturbed soil, his lips parting ever so slightly as he dared to question what Derek had put under the soil. Derek was not the kind of person to bury a coyote. He _knew_ that, but he’d played it off when fed the explanation, too caught up with the nightmares that had pestered him for two nights at that point and the prospect of starting at a new school.

Taking a sharp intake of breath, Clark turned his head away from the disturbed soil, training his eyes on Stiles’ jeep, the blue paintwork standing out against the darkness of its surroundings. He couldn’t let Scott get into his head. Derek was not a murderer. He knew that. And he stood by that. Even if the coyote explanation seemed unrealistic. “There’s going to be a perfectly good explanation for whatever _this_ is,” Clark insisted, talking more to himself than anyone else. He already knew Scott had his mind set on his accusation of murder.

Tightening the grip around the shovel in his left hand, Clark strode purposefully over to the patch of disturbed soil, joining Scott and Stiles. There was no point speculating further. The only explanation to what was going on would come from evidence. Without even looking at Scott or Stiles, Clark stuck his shovel into the ground and began shifting it out of their way.

* * *

Digging a grave, it turned out, was tiring work. It also felt like an enormous waste of time when moving copious amounts of soil unearthed nothing. As glad as he was to have found nothing, Clark didn’t like to waste his time. As he left Scott and Stiles continuing to dig to recover his can of Coca-Cola from the jeep, Clark couldn’t believe he had allowed Scott to get in his head and make him momentarily - _for the slightest of seconds -_ consider the possibility that Scott had been right. The lack of a coyote did make Clark question what Derek had been up to but the lack of a dead girl meant Clark reached the jeep with a smug smirk on his face.

He retrieved the can from the inside of the passenger door of the jeep with ease. It wasn’t ice cold to touch like it had been when he’d gotten it out of the vending machine but there was still a coolness to the metal of the can. Clark kicked the door of Stiles’ jeep shut again; it was a novelty he didn’t dare attempt with either Derek or Jackson’s cars. The can opened with a satisfying hiss and he took a sip to quench his thirst as he leisurely strolled back to the pit Scott and Stiles were knee-deep in, working away in desperation to not look like idiots who overreacted to a non-existent scent.

“This is taking too long,” Scott complained, chucking another shovel-full of soil onto the pile that was mounting up outside of the grave they were digging.

“Your idea,” Clark reminded him, not even bothering to try and hide the smugness in his voice. He took another sip of his drink, watching as Scott and Stiles refused to give up. He had to wonder how much further they were going to dig. Clark knew his brother well enough to know if he was going to bury something, he wouldn’t bother ensuring it was six feet underground. If four feet did the job, it did the job without having to waste time with the extra two.

“You could help,” Stiles pointed out with a grunt as he chucked more soil out of his side of the pit.

“I have helped,” Clark retorted and gulped down some more of his drink before adding, “prove myself right.” Scott and Stiles, however, did not seem as convinced that Clark had been proven right. They made no move to stop digging, ignoring Clark’s statement as they continued. If Clark didn’t live in the house right next to the pit they were digging, he would have started heading for home. “You’re wasting your time,” he taunted in a sing-song voice.

“That’s not childish at all,” Stiles bit back, shooting a glance in Clark direction who grinned playfully at him. Stiles forced his shovel into the ground. Hearing it hit something, Stiles froze and his eyes widened before hastily throwing out his arm in Scott’s direction to gain his attention. “Stop! Stop! Stop!”

Clark’s grin faltered at Stiles’ instructions and disappeared altogether when both boys ditched their shovels and vanished from his view, crouching down into the pit. Their sudden change from the shovel method to getting their hands dirty was unnerving. It was evident that they were seconds away from uncovering _something._ As he waited with bated breath Clark rationalised with himself that whatever it was, there was going to be a perfectly good explanation which would provide him with a lot of smug ‘I told you so’s’ in the future.

There were screams which were promptly followed by Scott and Stiles scurrying out of the pit that they had dug. If it weren’t for the unknown of what they had discovered, Clark would have laughed. Instead, he found his legs rooted to the spot and unresponsive as he considered taking a look for himself.

“What the hell is that?” Stiles demanded, sounding far from pleased about their discovery. It also didn’t sound like they had found what they had been expecting to unearth. Clark felt himself untense slightly.

Scott dared to scramble forwards to take another look into the hole and at their discovery. He squinted as he stared at the dark shape; the moonlight was covered by a cloud and the one torch they did have did very little to clear the darkness. “It’s a _wolf_!” He exclaimed in surprise. Most of it was still covered but he could make out its head.

“Yeah, I can see that!” Stiles returned sarcastically before turning to Clark, who remained fixed to his spot a few feet from the pit. “Apparently your brother can’t tell the difference between a wolf and a coyote.”

Clark scoffed. “He knows the difference,” Clark assured them. “Maybe you guys don’t.”

Scott took a glance back at the animal in the ground, confirming it was definitely a wolf, before responding, “It’s definitely a wolf.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Clark frowned, completely confused as to why Derek would lie to him about the kind of animal he was burying. Determined to see it for himself, Clark forced his legs to actually move and strolled up to the side of the pit to take a look at the so-called wolf. “Why would he-” Clark’s voice failed him as his eyes fell upon the wolf in the pit - _the grave_ \- and all the air felt like it was getting sucked out of his mouth. His throat dried up as he stared in horror at the familiar wolf.

Stiles and Scott were oblivious to Clark, talking away to each other. Clark couldn’t hear them, not properly, it was background noise. In that moment, all that mattered was the wolf. _Laura._ Clark let his legs give way, collapsing onto his knees beside the grave. He paid no attention to whatever Scott and Stiles were getting up to around him and when Laura’s wolf form shifted back into the top half of her body, her lifeless brown eyes staring up at his, Clark didn’t even blink.


	14. AJ

Sat on the couch in the Sheriff’s office of the station, Clark was numb. Laura was dead. Derek had hid it from him. Derek had been arrested for murder. The Sheriff was sat at his desk, typing away at his computer and looked preoccupied with his work.

Unbeknownst to Clark, Noah would routinely take his eyes off his computer screen to look at the boy. He was in a daze, his brown eyes looked almost lifeless and it was evident that the teenager’s thoughts were far away from everything happening in the station. Had Noah not had a previous run-in with Clark, he would have considered the possibility of the boy being mute. No-one, not him, not one of his deputies, nor Scott or Stiles, had managed to get a single word out of him. The only slight acknowledgement Noah had received from him was back at the crime scene, when he had placed a comforting hand on Clark’s shoulders and explained that he was going to have to accompany him to the station. There had been a flash of anger in the teenager’s eyes as Clark had assumed that Noah suspected him of being involved in the murder. Noah hadn’t gotten any further acknowledgement from him since explaining that he wasn’t under arrest.

Derek, upon returning to the remnants of the house and promptly getting arrested, had hastily given up his right to remain silent but only to declare that Clark had not be involved. The older Hale had also refused to say anything else since then.

It was the younger Hale’s behavior which was more concerning to Noah as his eyes narrowed at the boy sat on the other side of his office. He could understand Clark being surprised and knocked for six at the revelation that his brother was a _potential_ murderer - innocent until proven guilty was something Noah believed in heavily, even if the brunt of evidence was pointing convincingly towards guilty - however Clark’s behavior stroke him more like _grief._

Noah had a feeling that there was more to this latest case but he wasn’t going to get any answers if both Hales continued to maintain their selective mutism stances. His eyes flicked back to the report on his computer screen; a report that gave him further reasons to be concerned about Clark Hale.

A knock on his door took Noah’s attention away from his computer. It also sparked acknowledgement from Clark who tentatively turned to the door, following Deputy Lattimer’s every move as she approached Noah’s desk. She sent a glance in Clark’s direction, unsure whether to proceed with what she had to say with him in the room. Noah set his computer onto its screensaver mode before standing up and indicating for Lattimer to speak, hoping that something she may say about Derek would prompt Clark out of his trance. “He seems to be refusing his right to a lawyer,” she informed him.

Noah folded his arms, interested by her choice of wording, “ _Seems_ to be?”

“He hasn’t said a word since we got him back to the station,” Lattimer explained.

“Leave it be for now, then,” Noah instructed, “Let’s see if he changes his mind about staying silent after spending a little more time with us.” Lattimer gave a short nod before turning and walking out of the room, Clark watching her every move.

Clark’s eyes were fixated on the door and he watched as the deputy slowly pulled it shut behind her. On the click of the door being pulled to, Clark slowly turned back to the Sheriff. Noah was still standing up, though was leaning slightly against his desk, so Clark had to look up to meet his eyes from his sitting position. For the first time since Noah had seen a brief flash of anger, there was a sign of life in Clark’s brown eyes as the teenager looked at him, determined. “I want to see him,” Clark demanded.

Noah gave a small shake of his head, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” He’d yet to get Clark’s version of events. Allowing him in a room with Derek could easily result in the pair straightening out their stories. As innocent as the young man in front of him looked, the Sheriff couldn’t ignore the details of the report on his computer. His heart was telling him Clark wasn’t involved but his head was telling him to be careful.

The flash of anger Noah had earlier seen in Clark’s eyes returned as the boy looked ready to protest. It was gone within seconds, however, as Clark shut his mouth tight. A smug smile formed on Clark’s lips and he raised his eyebrows briefly, challenging the Sheriff.

“You’re not going to talk ‘til you get to talk to your brother?” Noah realised from Clark’s actions. The teenager responded with a curt nod. “Right. I think you’re forgetting,” Noah responded, keeping his tone calm and casual as he manoeuvred one of the chairs in his office and positioned it opposite Clark, “In this station, I’m the one in charge. I call the shots.” The Sheriff took a seat on the chair he had moved, putting himself on the same level as Clark. He didn’t want to intimidate him. “Here’s the deal. You answer some questions and then you can see your brother. Sound good?”

The only response he received from Clark was a steady stare; no confirmation, no sign of dispute and very little blinking which was somewhat unnerving. Noah asked a question anyway. “Can you tell me how you came across the victim’s body?” He already had the story from Stiles but he was interested to see how Clark’s matched up, to get a gauge of the teenager’s honesty. If he even got a response.

There was a silence that lasted a good number of seconds and just as Noah was ready to accept that Clark was going to be as stubborn about talking as his brother, a word escaped his lips. “Laura.” It was said in barely a whisper and Noah struggled to make out what Clark had said.

“What was that?”

“Her name. It is…” Clark trailed off, catching himself. His eyes dropped to the floor as he narrowed them. “It _was_ ,” he corrected himself, forcing the word out bitterly, “Laura. Laura Hale.” Clark lifted his head up, making eye contact with the Sheriff once again as he saw the realisation hit him. “My sister.” Clark’s behavior made a lot more sense to Noah with that revelation. “Derek wouldn’t have killed her.”

“Then why did he bury her?” Noah asked.

“I don’t know!” Clark replied, hitting the armrest of the couch in his frustration. None of it made sense. That was the problem. “That’s why I need to talk to Derek. I need to understand all this!” There was a desperation in his voice that Clark hadn’t intended to show.

“They didn’t have a falling out recently?” Noah prompted.

“No! I told you it wasn’t him.” Clark insisted immediately.

“Okay,” Noah decided to move on. He didn’t want to frustrate Clark and, with finding out his sister had died and his brother was the prime suspect, he figured Clark’s tolerance levels were lower than normal. “Scott told me you thought it was a coyote buried there.”

Clark nodded reluctantly. It made him feel stupid. He should have _smelt_ that it wasn’t. He should have recognised her scent. “That’s what Derek told me.”

A knock on the door interrupted their conversation and Clark turned to see Deputy Lattimer had opened the door and was hovering in the doorway, her right hand remaining on the door handle, “Sheriff, Melissa McCall’s here. She wants to speak to you.”

Behind Lattimer, Melissa hastily appeared still dressed in the work clothes Clark had earlier seen her in at the hospital’s vending machine. “Only if you’re not busy. I can wait,” she told the Sheriff.

Noah looked at Clark thoughtfully before turning back to Lattimer and Melissa who were both waiting for his decision. “Lattimer, take Clark to see his brother.”

At that, Clark was immediately on his feet; with more life in him than the Sheriff had seen since arriving at the crime scene. There was a sense of determination in the way he walked to the door, Lattimer taking a few steps back to let him out of the room and proceed to lead the way to the interrogation room that Derek was in. With Clark and Lattimer heading elsewhere, the doorway was emptied, allowing Melissa to walk through. She pushed the door shut softly behind her, shutting out the light hum of the deputies working in the busy station on the other side of the door.

“You’ve heard what the boys have been up to this time?” Noah assumed as he took his seat at his desk again, inviting Melissa to sit across from him.

Melissa nodded as she took the seat. “Scott told me after my shift. He also mentioned CPS was brought up,” she prompted.

Noah responded with a wry smile. He hadn’t mentioned CPS in front of Scott but the teenager must have overheard him instructing one of his deputies. “Yes. With Derek’s current situation and the previous Hale family tragedy, I assumed that Clark has no one we can call,” Noah explained. After returning to the station, Noah had put in a word with the high school principal Thomas and confirmed Derek to be the only emergency contact that Clark had on record. “CPS can’t get someone here until tomorrow though so it looks like I’m going to have a guest for the night.”

“That’s what I came to talk about. We’ve got a spare room and the space,” Melissa pointed out - or, at least, they would have the space by the time she got home. The McCall house rarely received overnight guests - barring Stiles who would spend the night on a blow-up bed in Scott’s room - and the guest room had become a dumping ground for old stuff they didn’t have much use for. After Scott had convinced her into opening their house to Clark (she assumed that Scott felt slightly guilty for what had happened) she’d left him at the house to sort the mess that was the guest room (or what they had come to call the room of doom because it was impossible to find anything in there). “I’m willing to take him in.”

Noah’s eyes flicked to him computer screen where the standard Beacon County Sheriff Department logo screensaver was stilled displayed. His thoughts were on the report that would appear if he were to jump his computer back into action. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he replied after a moment’s thought, turning back to Melissa, “You barely know the kid.”

“True. But I still know him more than some random foster family that CPS are going to find him,” Melissa countered, “He’s probably only just settling in here; new town, new school, new people and now he’s going to have to move again?”

Noah sighed. “If you really want to do this, I won’t stop you. I’ll vouch for you with the social worker they send _but_ I think you need to know some things first,” he told her, using his computer mouse to bring up the report he’d been reading through. “I called in a favor with Principal Thomas. He sent over Clark’s transfer notes from his old high school in New York,” Noah explained as he turned the computer screen around so that Melissa could see it. “Fights with students, arguments with teachers, destruction of school property,” he listed off from memory. “Sounds like considerable anger problems.”

“All during ninth grade,” Melissa pointed out before pointing towards the bottom of the screen and reading, “ _Significant progress made prior to tenth grade. Clark has almost been like a different student since the beginning of this academic year._ It sounds like he’s figured out how to manage his anger.”

“Maybe,” Noah agreed, “But his sister had recently been murdered and his brother has been arrested for that murder. Relapses have been triggered by much less.”

“Poor kid…” Melissa commented.

* * *

Deputy Lattimer was walking far too slow for Clark’s liking as she led the way to the room that they were keeping his brother in. Clark had been especially patient in waiting to be allowed to see Derek. As he was getting closer, his patience was evaporating and Clark became more and more determined to get the answers to all the questions that had been building up since he had uncovered Laura’s body with Scott and Stiles. The sheriff’s station was far from huge but Lattimer was making it feel that way at the speed with which she was walking.

Eventually they reached a stop outside a dark blue door complete with a silver plaque which read _‘Interview Room 1’._ Lattimer opened the door, revealing Derek sat at the table, calm and collected with no concern in sight despite the situation he found himself in. If it weren’t for recent revelations, Clark would have been ecstatic at the scene before him which looked almost like a scene from his favorite police procedural television shows and would have been momentarily disappointed by the lack of a one-way mirror. As he stepped inside and the door was pulled shut behind him, none of these feelings hit him, too preoccupied with glaring at his brother.

Derek met his glare with an unreadable expression. “I didn’t kill her,” he broke the silence with a simple and obvious statement which only infuriated Clark further.

“Do you think I’m stupid?” Clark spat back as he crossed his arms, standing opposite Derek on the other side of the table. There was a chair available for him to sit at but he opted to stand; towering over Derek seemed appropriate giving the circumstances. “I know you didn’t kill her!” He exclaimed. “But you lied to me.”

“You lied too.” Derek countered, his response catching Clark by surprise. He hadn’t expected that. “I’m not deaf. I heard you and your nightmares every night.”

“So I lied about a couple of nightmares?” Clark gaped at him, surprising himself as he managed to keep his voice calm. It didn’t last long, however, for his voice was raised when he spoke again, “You lied about Laura! You knew she was dead but instead of telling me, you let me waste my weekend walking around town with her picture! She was killed and you didn’t tell me!”

“You were already having nightmares about the rest of our family who were murdered,” Derek challenged, refusing to raise his voice like Clark had. He maintained his calm and collected appearance which was more than annoying as far as Clark was concerned. “I was worried telling you about Laura would make things worse. I was trying to find the right time to tell you.”

“You don’t get to decide what I get to know! Especially when it’s _this_!” Clark growled, banging his fist against the table in his frustration.

Derek raised an eyebrow at his brother’s actions, “I thought you’d sorted out the anger.”

“Our sister was killed over a week ago! And you didn’t tell me. I’m allowed to be angry about this,” Clark snapped. It was definitely a justified anger.

“Don’t you see, Clark? Something is wrong,” Derek pointed out, his calm and collected shtick which was really frustrating Clark disappearing into a more urgent tone.

Clark scoffed, “Yeah, that’s what I’ve been saying. This is wrong. _This_ is not the way I should find out that my sister has died.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Derek responded. “There’s a lot of things going on around here. Someone murdered Laura, someone bit Scott and someone, or something, is affecting you.”

“Don’t turn this on to me.” Clark spoke sharply. He turned away from Derek, staring at the brick wall as he ran a hand through his hair. He knew things were wrong but he was far too angry at Derek to talk about it.

“Clark. I didn’t even try to hide the smell from you,” Derek continued to point out. “You were around the house for a whole week and didn’t notice. Scott was there for five minutes.”

“Shut up!” Clark growled.

“You should have smelt it, Clark,” Derek commented. After providing Clark with the coyote story to give him time to work out the best way to tell him, he had been expecting Clark to challenge him after school. Clark not noticing or challenging him had given him the excuse not to tell him. Derek had never been good at breaking bad news to his younger brother. That had always been Laura’s job. “Why didn’t you smell it?”

“I don’t know!” Clark exclaimed, spinning around and chucking the table dividing him and Derek against the wall to his left. He didn’t want to listen to Derek listing everything that was wrong with him; not when he’d just found out that Laura had died. It didn’t seem important. He stood glaring at Derek, fists balled up and his breathing heavy as the door to the interview room burst open and a number of deputies rushed in after hearing the loud crashing of the metal table hitting the brick wall.

The Sheriff appeared in the doorway, Melissa close behind him, as Lattimer and a few other deputies crossed the room to return the table to its normal position. “Is everything okay?” Noah asked, his eyes flicking between the two Hales whose own eyes were locked on each other’s. Anger was evident on Clark’s face whilst Derek’s was - as had been the case since they’d arrested him - mostly unreadable, bar one short flicker of concern. It was gone as fast as it had appeared but Noah had caught it.

Clark turned to the Sheriff; he knew he was specifically referring to the thrown table incident but the question still seemed stupid to him considering how much his life had been thrown in one day. His sister had been murdered and his brother was the prime suspect. “Far from it,” Clark responded, shooting one last look in Derek’s direction before pushing past the people in his way between him and the door.

* * *

Just when Clark had thought his day couldn’t get any worse, the Sheriff hit him with the news that he would be staying at the McCall’s house. As nice as Melissa seemed from the three encounters the pair had previously had, Clark was far from enthralled about staying in Scott’s house. He was sure Derek would be ecstatic about his latest living conditions since it would allow him to get closer to Scott. As Clark followed Melissa to the front door of the house, however, he had no interest in continuing to do any of the things Derek had asked him to. Derek may have an obsession with Scott but he certainly didn’t.

As Melissa opened the door and he stepped inside, all Clark wanted to do was find a bed, go to sleep and hope to wake up in New York and find out that the entire thing was an overly realistic nightmare. Things had been so much simpler in New York; admittedly the first few years had been chaotic but nowhere near as chaotic as his first week back in Beacon Hills felt.

Melissa offered him some food but, uncharacteristically, Clark had no appetite and politely turned down her offer. She seemed to understand that he really wanted to be left alone with his thoughts for she gave him a brief explanation of where everything was, showed him to their guest room and then reminded him to find her if he needed anything before she left him.

The McCall’s guest room was an average-sized square room. Looking around, it was obvious to Clark that they didn’t tend to use it that often; he couldn’t see the far wall for it was blocked floor to ceiling by stacks of boxes with random items chucked inside. The wall to his left - painted cream liked the other two walls he could see - was complete with a standard rectangular window, slightly ajar to allow fresh air into the room. The headrest of the bed - which took centre stage of the room - was pressed up against the wall to his right. Whilst it wasn’t a double bed, it was larger than a single bed, and was certainly an upgrade to the one he had at his house. Furniture in the room was sparse consisting of one bedside table and an empty chest of drawers beneath the window near the foot of the bed.

Clark flopped down onto the bed, kicking his shoes off at the same time. His head sank into the fluffy pillows which, evidently, had not been used much. He stared up at the white ceiling above him and, when finally given the chance to be alone and process everything that had happened - realised that he didn’t want to be alone. With Laura dead and Derek arrested, he felt more alone than ever. He had once had a big family. Suddenly, he had no one. He propped himself up onto his elbows and glanced around the empty room before whispering, “Cora?”

He hadn’t seen or spoken to his sister in the last two days and with all the Scott and lacrosse drama, he hadn’t given any thought to it. Suddenly, he found himself really needing to talk to a family member but he had no idea how his thing with Cora worked. She had always appeared at random times; he had never _needed_ her before. “I don’t know if you can hear me. I don’t know how I can summon you. I don’t know if I can. I don’t know how this thing works,” he kept his voice low as he spoke. He didn’t need anyone thinking he was talking to himself or going crazy. He did feel stupid as he spoke to an empty room. “I really need someone to talk to. I don’t know if you know what’s going on here but Laura… well, it’s just me and Derek now. Is she with you? I don’t know how this works.” Clark paused, almost expecting an answer back. When nothing came he scoffed and flopped back down onto the pillows. “Right, ‘cause that was going to work,” he muttered sarcastically to himself.

A knock at the door caught Clark by surprise and he slowly lifted himself up again to stare questioningly at the closed white door which led into the hallway of the house. There was a brief moment where Clark thought he had imagined the noise before more knocking told him that there was definitely someone there. He forced himself off the surprisingly comforting bed and made the few steps to the door to open it.

Scott was stood outside the door with his right fist up in the air and ready to knock the door for a third time after Clark had appeared, once again, not to respond to his second knock. His right hand awkwardly went to the back of his neck after Clark pulled the door open and looked at him expectantly; not looking too pleased about his interruption. “Hi, um, can we talk?” Scott asked.

“What’s there to talk about?” Clark challenged bluntly. “You were right. I was wrong. End of discussion.” Clark turned and went to push the door shut again behind him but something stopped him from closing it. He turned back to see Scott had his hand on the door, preventing him from being able to push it shut.

“I’m not here to gloat,” Scott spoke earnestly. “I just wanted to tell you… if I’d known she was your sister, I wouldn’t have…” Scott trailed off, evidently struggling to find the words that he wanted to say. It was obvious he felt guilty; Clark had figured that much out on the car ride from the station to the McCall house when Melissa had told him it had been Scott’s idea.

Clark didn’t need sympathy from Scott, of all people. “It happened.” Clark spoke bluntly and paused before continuing, “We can do a lot of things but we can’t turn back time. So let’s forget about it and move on.” Clark made a second attempt to push the door shut but Scott continued to have none of it.

“You can’t tell me that you’re going to forget about it,” Scott challenged. “She was your sister.”

Clark forced out a smile, determined to communicate to Scott that he was _fine._ He wasn’t fine, of course, but he needed Scott to think he was. “Almost my entire family burned to death when I was a child. I’m used to the people I love dying,” he replied coldly.

Scott sighed but appeared to get the message that Clark wasn’t interested in using his shoulder to cry on. He was about to turn to leave the other teenager alone when he felt the urge to ask Clark something he had meant to before the unfolding of more recent events, “You don’t like me very much, do you?”

Clark scoffed - a response Scott was getting used to receiving from the younger teenager. “I wonder why,” he spoke sarcastically, “It couldn’t possibly have anything to do with you getting my brother arrested for murder.”

Scott shook his head, “You didn’t like me before that.”

“Well, it certainly hasn’t helped your case,” Clark shrugged.

“What have you got against me?” Scott asked again, not interested in dropping the question until he got a valid answer.

Clark realised this and pulled the door open further so they can talk face to face and Scott could stop preventing him from pushing it shut. Scott’s right arm dropped to his side and Clark answered vaguely, “I know your type.”

Scott looked visibly confused, “What type?”

Clark took a moment to glance down the hallway and confirm that Melissa wasn’t in ear-shot before answering, “Bitten Werewolves.” Scott’s frown only deepened after his response and Clark sighed in exasperation upon remembering just how new and naïve Scott was to _everything._ “There’s two different types of werewolves. Born wolves who inherit the gene from parents; like me and Derek, and those who become wolves after being bitten by an Alpha; you,” he reluctantly explained.

“What’s wrong with bitten werewolves?” Scott questioned further, practically returning to his original question.

“The bite changes you,” Clark answered and received a ‘well duh’ look from Scott in response. “I’m not just talking about the senses and the claws and the teeth,” he began to clarify, “I’m talking about you as a person; your personality.”

When Scott continued to look confused, Clark sighed again. “Alright, I guess it’s story time,” he announced, deciding to explain more clearly by telling Scott of his own experiences with bitten wolves. He moved away from the door and perched himself down on the end of the bed. Scott hesitated before following him into the room, pushing the door shut behind him and leaning back against the chest of drawers opposite where Clark was sat. “When we moved to New York after the fire and I eventually started going to school again, I wasn’t interested in making friends. As far as I was concerned, Cora and Jackson were my friends. I mean, Cora was dead and Jackson was almost three thousand miles away but I was adamant I wasn’t going to replace them.

“Then these two kids started working to break down the walls I’d built up. We weren’t in the same grade but we all lived in the same apartment block and they started teaching me to play basketball which Derek loved. We were really good friends for two years; I knew everything about them, they knew… almost everything about me.

“Then one night, they got themselves bit. Just like you, no Alpha in sight to teach them the ropes so I took them to Laura. She explained everything to them. She helped them with control. But they became more arrogant and more temperamental than the friends I had originally made. They became more interested in their new power than basketball and hanging out. And then one day, the Alpha that turned them returned back on the scene and that night, they just left. They didn’t even bother telling me that they were leaving; they just ran off with their Alpha and I haven’t heard anything from either of them since.”

There was a pause after Clark finished his story in which Scott finished processing what he had been told. “But… I haven’t changed,” Scott defended himself.

“Sure you haven’t,” Clark responded disbelievingly.

“I haven’t!” Scott insisted. “I’m not going to. I’m not going to ditch Stiles, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Scott inferred from Clark’s story, “And _if_ the Alpha that bit me decides to show up, I’m not going to go running off after them.”

“Right, I haven’t heard that before,” Clark muttered, barely loud enough for Scott to hear him.

“What?” Scott asked, only catching a few of Clark’s words.

“ _‘And if the Alpha does show up, I won’t run after them.’_ ” Clark quoted Scott in response, adding air-marks with his fingers. “That’s pretty much what AJ told me as well and we both know how that one ended.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t know what it was about this chapter but this was the hardest one I have written so far. It took me about a week to write it and a long time to edit because I just wasn’t happy with it and had to take away and add scenes.
> 
> I know it’s taking a while to get through the events of ‘Second Chance at First Line’ but a lot of these additional scenes will tie into future chapters and even future seasons so there is a reason to all this!


	15. Peter

October 31st 2004

_Clark loved Halloween; bar the fake blood and the overly scary costumes but what was better than dressing up and getting lots of candy? Clark had been all for reusing the awesome velociraptor costume he had worn the year before but Cora - who did not share Clark’s obsession in dinosaurs but superheroes - had convinced Clark to match her superhero theme. She had managed to talk Jackson - who had refused Clark’s dinosaur theme the previous year - into dressing up as a superhero._

_The twins stood side by side in the kitchen not as brother and sister but as alien cousins both dressed in matching blue and red colors; Clark as Superman and Cora as Supergirl. Cora had become especially excited when she had first realised that Clark had the same name as Superman and that her own was reasonably similar to Supergirl’s. Jackson - who they were meeting at his house - had been planning to go as Batman when Cora had first talked him into the theme. The nine-year-old girl had impressively talked him into Jack Frost to match her additional name theme. Clark and Jackson made the same mistake of telling her they had no idea who he was to which they received a copious amount of random facts about the character in response._

_“Can we go now?” Cora asked their mom impatiently as Talia returned to the room after previously leaving to take a phone call. It was a question she had been getting from both of the twins since lunch time; their excitement to get going evidently making the time go extremely slow for the pair of them._

_“I’m so sorry, kids. Something’s come up,” she spoke apologetically and she meant it. She liked spending as much time as possible with her kids and hated letting them down but the most recent full moon only a few days before had caused problems for some of the more recent betas of Beacon Hills. With Argents sniffing around for the past few months, she had a responsibility as Alpha to ensure the safety of the entire pack. At the twins crestfallen look she added, “I’m sure someone else can take you.”_

_Peter, who was sitting at the kitchen island eating a sandwich, picked up the nearest book to make himself look busy._

_“Like Laura!” Cora suggested enthusiastically._

_Talia shook her head, “Sorry Cora. I need her with me.”_

_Cora let out a disappointed sigh as Clark spoke up, “Derek could take us.”_

_“Derek can not,” the teenager in question countered as he entered the kitchen to get a drink at the right time to save himself from trick or treating duty. “Some of the basketball team are throwing a Halloween party,” he explained further on his mom’s questioning look as he grabbed a can out of the fridge._

_“Have fun,” Talia encouraged her eldest son as he left the kitchen. She didn’t even consider stopping him from going to the party to take his siblings trick or treating for a second. For a few months after Paige’s death, it had been hard to get him out of the house for anything other than school, and even that had initially been difficult. He was getting a lot more sociable again which she wasn’t about to put a stop to. One of his friends had even slipped up and mentioned the possibility of a girl being involved though Derek had not been pleased by that comment._

_Cora slumped back against the kitchen wall in defeat, folding her arms and sighing dramatically to illustrate her unhappiness. Clark, meanwhile, eyed up Peter who was hiding behind a book he held in his right hand. “Peter can take us!” He suggested._

_Peter side-glanced his nephew before shaking his right hand to draw attention to the book he had in it. “I’m busy.”_

_Clark’s head tilted to the right and his brow furrowed as he inspected the cover of the book. “You know that your book is upside down… right?”_

_Peter did a double-take at the words in the book before realising that Clark was, unfortunately, correct in his observation. He huffed, dropped the book onto the table and conceded, “Fine. I’ll do it.”_

_When Clark and Cora ran out to his prized car with all the speed and enthusiasm of hyperactive dogs, Peter immediately regretted giving in to his nephew so easily. There was something about the way that Clark could look at him which made it almost impossible to say the word ‘no’ and Peter was not the type of person who found it hard to disappoint people and say ‘no’. “One rule. No eating any chocolate or candy in my car,” Peter stated, holding his keys up to illustrate he had no plans on unlocking the car until they both agreed._

_Cora nodded enthusiastically whilst Clark leaned back against Peter’s car, his arms behind his back and a mischievous twinkle in his brown eyes. “A rule for a rule,” Clark negotiated confidently. He didn’t even wait for Peter to confirm or turn down his suggestion. “You can’t go trick or treating without a costume.”_

_“I’m not trick or treating. I’m supervising,” Peter reminded him with a chuckle._

_“You still need a costume,” Clark maintained determined. For a nine-year-old boy he could be really stubborn and Peter wonder if it was a trait that he had inadvertently taught his nephew._

_Peter crossed his arms, “I am not wearing a costume.”_

_Clark pulled his hands out from behind his back and held up a mask with a big smile on his face, “You can dress up as yourself!”_

_Peter didn’t know whether to laugh or put his head in his hands. The mask Clark was holding up was low quality; evidently from a cheap shop and no doubt bought by Clark with the scraps of his allowance. It was plastic and oddly terrifying in the sense that it was intended as a child’s mask. Peter had gotten used to werewolves being depicted inaccurately in Hollywood movies but the werewolf mask Clark held smugly in his hand was a whole other thing. “You have got to be kidding me.”_

_“No,” Clark responded sincerely, shaking his head. “You wear the mask and we don’t mess up your car,” he proposed._

_“Or I refuse to wear the mask and just happen to lose my car keys,” Peter challenged in return as he pocketed his keys. “No one goes anywhere.”_

_“That’s just boring,” Cora complained, “I thought you were fun.”_

_“It’s because of his birthday. He’s old and boring now,” Clark explained, looking at Cora but his eyes kept shifting in Peter’s direction._

_Peter shook his head disapprovingly; he knew exactly what the young boy was doing but it was working because he was definitely not old and boring. He stalked forward, snatched the mask out of Clark’s hands and unlocked the car doors, throwing the mask into the car. “Get in,” he instructed._

_Trick or treating with Peter had not been what Clark, Cora or Jackson had been expecting but they’d had a great deal of fun out of it. Clark and Jackson had gotten a whole lot of amusement after teaming up and arguably manipulating Peter into actually putting the mask on. After Cora had finished complaining about how the werewolf mask did not fit their theme and that they should have dressed their supervising uncle up as Spider-Man, she also saw the funny side._

_An advantage of trick or treating with Peter was his ability to stare at the homeowners until they felt compelled to put more treats into each of the kids’ baskets. Within just a few streets, all three kids had almost more candy than their buckets could hold. They returned to Peter’s car, eyes wide at the prospect of eating all their goodies over the coming days whilst Peter’s own enthusiasm came from the idea of returning to the house for a marathon of scary movies._

_Clark and Cora were already in the car, evidently eager to return home and began their feasts, when Jackson’s blue eyes lit up and he pointed across the street exclaiming, “Haunted House! We’ve got to go in there!”_

_The house across the street from his car was indeed, and unfortunately, covered head to toe in Halloween decorations and the front lawn couldn’t be seen for blood, gore and all things scary. Cora was out of the car in an instant with Clark following her actions a little slower. With just eight words, Clark’s friend had managed to disrupt Peter’s entire plans._

_Peter found himself reluctantly following the three children - none of which had asked his permission, he noted - across the road and into the front yard of the ‘haunted house’. It was laid out like a graveyard with a number of fake gravestones planted in the lawn and prosthetic bloody hands made to look like zombies breaking free of their coffins. Peter scoffed; the owner of the house apparently had a lot of free time and far too much enthusiasm for Halloween as far as he was concerned._

_Cora and Jackson were running around the fake graveyard, taking in the fake names and inscriptions upon the fake gravestones and confidently prodding at the fake zombie hands. Clark, Peter noticed, didn’t quite share his sister and his friend’s enthusiasm. He lingered back, not venturing far from his uncle. The further they ventured into the yard, the closer Clark got to Peter until he eventually got so close that they were more or less attached to each other; arms brushing against each other’s as they walked._

_The more enthralled pair stopped running when they reached what looked to be a well in the middle of the graveyard. It was covered in fake webs and spiders whilst Jackson and Cora were not fazed by as the looked over the side of the well. “Is it real?” Jackson asked as Peter and Clark joined them; the latter of the two more tentative as he copied them in peering over._

_Darkness had well and truly crept up on them and Peter had very little to work with when it came to light and determining the depth of the well’s pit. “I don’t know. I can’t see how far it goes,” Peter answered though logic told him it was probably fake._

_Clark looked up from the darkness of the pit of the well, a little more confident with the focus on the well proving a distraction from the fake zombies and blood that surrounded them. “I know a way we can find out,” he spoke suggestively, the mischievous twinkle in his brown eyes from earlier that day returning. He was looking directly at Peter with a smirk on his face._

_“I’m warning you now. If you try and push me in, I’m taking you with me,” Peter jokingly cautioned him and Clark’s smirk faltered ever-so-slightly. “You forget, Clark. I’ve known you your entire life. I know how you think.”_

_“Spoilsport,” Clark shot at him._

_The inside of the haunted house was a lot more fun than Peter had been expecting, even if he vowed never to admit that to any of the three kids or his own sister. Jackson and Cora proved themselves to be especially fearless and spent most of their time laughing in the faces of those that attempted to scare them. Clark was not quite so fearless; he initially tried to put on a brave face when they’d stepped in the front door but Peter had picked up on his heartbeat racing immediately. Jackson and Cora were too preoccupied with laughing at people’s failed attempts to scare them to notice that Clark had gripped tightly onto his uncle’s arm as they followed behind. Peter had placed a comforting hand on Clark’s shoulder in an effort to help calm him._

_As soon as they were out of the house and back in some fresh air, Clark instantly relaxed and pulled away from Peter before Jackson and Cora turned to face them. Neither Clark nor Peter brought up what had happened in the haunted house again after that but Peter awoke the next morning to find a number of pieces of candy outside his door._

* * *

The long-term care facility of the hospital he was in felt smaller than it had the last time he was there. Clark knew it was because he had grown in the six years since he had last visited Peter but it still felt weird. A red-headed nurse, who had introduced herself as the one overseeing his uncle’s care, led him to Peter’s room.

In his head Clark envisioned the same images that he had seen the last time he was there; Peter lying on a hospital bed almost unrecognisable under the mass of bandages. When the nurse opened the door, however, he was proved wrong. To Clark’s pleasant surprise, Peter was not on a bed but sitting upright in a wheelchair which at least showed some signs of progress. The lack of response from him at the sound of the door opening, Clark entering and the nurse pulling the door shut as she left quickly highlighted to Clark that there was still a long road ahead when it came to his full recovery.

Clark edged further into the room, finding himself acting cautiously with no explanation, and sat on the edge of the bed facing Peter. The man across from him still wasn’t immediately recognisable as his uncle despite the lack of bandages. He looked _old_ \- a comment Peter had always hated him making, even jokingly. His hair was longer than Peter had always kept it and the clothes he was wearing were definitely not his style. But the thing that unnerved Clark the most were his eyes. His uncle’s blue eyes had always been bright and full of life but, as the man stared unresponsively into the distance, all Clark saw were slightly unnerving cold and dull eyes.

Clark swallowed and drummed his fingers against his leg as he tried to work out what to say. He had to say something, he couldn’t sit in silence but finding the words to talk to some he hadn’t spoken to in six years and he knew wouldn’t reply was hard. He cleared his throat before finally bringing himself to say something. “Hey there. It’s err, it’s been a while,” Clark greeted and then paused, watching Peter expectantly, hoping for a response, _daring_ him to reply. He dropped his head and chuckled lightly to himself for expecting such a thing. “It’s Clark. My voice has changed so… I mean they say the first thing that you forget about someone is their voice. I can’t remember Laura’s voice…” He trailed off at that realisation.

“Huh. I guess you didn’t know that. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news. Unless Derek did tell you. He sure didn’t tell me. Just buried her and waited for me to dig her up,” Clark spoke bitterly. Even though Peter wasn’t responding to him and he wasn’t entirely sure he was even listening, it felt good to vent. “But whatever. Another Hale bites the dust. Nothing new there, right?”

Clark scoffed, placed his head in his hands and groaned as he slowly dragged his hands down his face and rested his chin on them. There was so much he wanted to get out; he barely knew where to start. “I… the family used to be so big. You’d barely get a few seconds peace from us all,” his bitter tone had gone, instead he spoke softly with a pained smile when he reminisced. “I guess I feel like I’m all alone now. Laura’s dead. You’re… you. Cora, well I haven’t seen her for a while. I don’t know where she is.” It was a relief to talk to someone about seeing Cora without worrying about them telling him he was crazy or, in Jamie’s case, spurring their ghost fascination on. “And Derek, I can’t face him. So yeah… I’m alone.”

With his voice faltering and threatening to betray his emotions, Clark hastily cleared his throat. He stayed silent for a few minutes after that, not trusting his voice enough to continue talking. Peter had never been the type of uncle to be all touchy-feely and that was what had drawn Clark - who had always hated expressing emotions - so close to Peter out of all his aunt and uncles. It was odd, as Clark thought back on memories, therefore that Peter had always been the one he would seek out when feeling especially overwhelmed, frustrated, scared or angry. He would never talk to Peter about how he felt but there’d been something about the man’s presence that distracted him or made him feel safe.

“Enough of that crap,” Clark pushed it away dismissively, his voice stronger when he spoke again. “You know, last time I was here I was optimistic enough to consider the possibility of you making it to my tenth birthday. I don’t know if you know but you’re almost six years late to that. Don’t worry. I’m not expecting you to make my sixteenth. I don’t do birthdays anymore anyway. It’s not the same without Cora and everyone is always caught up in their own lives that day anyway. That being said, I have spent the last couple of months trying to convince Derek to buy me a car,” Clark chuckled to himself, “The last thing I want from him right now is a car.”

Clark glanced at the clock, surprised to see how much time had passed since he had first arrived at the facility. “Anyway, we’ve moved back here for the foreseeable future. You better get used to hearing my voice because I won’t leave it six years before my next visit and apparently I like to talk. I’m going to school at Beacon Hills High; I made the lacrosse team and I’ve got the first game tonight. Jackson talked me into it. Yeah, reunited with Jackson after six years,” he paused to think, frowning at the realisation popped into his head. “Something feels different though. I don’t what it is. I can’t put my finger on it but it doesn’t feel the same as before. Maybe it’s because we’ve grown up but Jackson hasn’t actually changed that much and I don’t think I have.” Clark shrugged, “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe it’s his new friends. I don’t recognise many of them from elementary school. They’re all nice enough though, if not a little weird.” Jamie, in particular, came to mind at that comment.

Clark placed his hands on his knees and stood up. “Well, you’re probably fed up at the sound of my voice by now. I’m going to go but, uh, I’ll come see you again soon,” Clark told him and caught himself waiting for some kind of response in return again. One-way conversations did not feel natural, especially when saying goodbye. He shook his head slightly before proceeding to the door.

* * *

Clark was certain that the day went by a lot faster than it would have gone had he actually been in school. After visiting Peter, he spent the rest of the day at the Hale house and had immediately changed into some of his own clothes. With no clothes other than the ones he had worn the day before, he’d been forced to borrow some of Scott’s clothes and there was no way he was turning up to the lacrosse game in borrowed clothes. When the end of the school day neared, Clark packed himself a few clothes to take with him back to the McCall’s. He’d filled his empty school bag with a couple of outfits, not at all concerned about packing his entire wardrobe, and then set upon the lengthy walk back to the McCall’s.

Approaching the front door, Clark clocked Scott’s bike at the side of the house. It would make sense for Scott to beat him back from school when he had to walk. He just hoped Scott would stay quiet about the fact that he’d skipped the day. He was sure Scott would have noticed that he wasn’t in their Chemistry class and had missed the lacrosse practice after lunch.

Clark stepped through the door and almost collided with Melissa as she reached the bottom of the stairs. “How was school?” She asked casually as he pushed the door shut behind him.

“It was school,” Clark shrugged in response as he made his way past her and started up the stairs. As nice as Melissa was, he wasn’t really in the mood for a general chat.

Melissa turned on the spot as he passed her, following his movements with her eyes. She waited until he had taken a few steps before speaking up, “I got a call from Principal Thomas.”

Clark froze, sighed and then eventually turned on the step to face her. He had been picturing her to look annoyed. She didn’t. “They updated my records to your contact details pretty quickly,” he commented in surprise.

“Because I called them to update them on the situation first thing this morning,” Melissa informed him. Clark nodded slightly. That made sense. “And I also assured them that you would be attending school today when they told me they completely understood if you needed to take the day off. And I only assured them of that because you insisted that you wanted to go this morning when I suggested you take a sick day.”

“I didn’t want to be stuck in the house all day,” Clark told her.

“And I didn’t expect you to,” Melissa responded. “Clark, I suggested you take a sick day to give you the time to grieve in whatever way you needed to. And I hope you did that today. Next time, just be honest with me.” She didn’t sound at all annoyed as Clark had expected. Instead she just sounded concerned and genuinely interested in helping him to process everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours.

“Honest?” Clark repeated slowly, knowing full well it was highly unlikely he was ever going to be able to be entirely honest with her.

“Yes. No lies. No hidden secrets,” Melissa clarified. Clark knew she was hinting towards the jumbled rant he’d had the previous night on the journey from the station to the McCall house heavily focused on Derek’s dishonesty to justify his reasonings for flipping the table. “Think of it as the house of honesty.”

Clark raised an eyebrow at her alliteration attempt and scoffed, “Right. Because everyone in this house is being completely honest with each other.”

“That’s the aim,” Melissa confirmed with a short nod and then frowned as she considered Clark’s words. “Unless you know something I don’t know.”

Clark bit his lip. He knew a lot more than _something_ that she didn’t. There was a lot she didn’t know. The biggest thing being that her son was a werewolf. The second biggest probably being that her new houseguest was also one. He also doubted she knew that Scott’s date to the party was from a family of hunters who would be all too unhappy if they found out what Scott really was. In fact, Clark was convinced that if he was truly honest with her, she would be on the phone to the social worker she had met that day in an instant to back out. Melissa was looking at him expectantly, waiting for an answer. “No,” he replied with an earnest shake of his head. He glanced up the stairs before jerking a thumb over his shoulder. “I’m going to go prepare for the game tonight,” he told her though it came out questioningly, unsure if she had other plans.

“Go ahead,” Melissa responded with an encouraging smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly shorter chapter than usual but there you go. I promise next chapter will get back on track with the events of the episode! (And more).


	16. Benched

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who read the last chapter before Monday, the ending was changed ever so slightly. It’s nothing major - I’ve just taken out the social worker plotline purely because, upon editing and working on future chapters, I realised it was taking away from opportunities to develop current characters. I also have limited knowledge on social work so it just worked out better to remove it, other than for occasional references.

Clark followed Scott, who was adamant he could play without losing control without Clark’s constant insistent not to, into the locker room. Scott was far too stubborn when it came to lacrosse for his own good and Clark had ran out of different ways to say _‘don’t play the game’._ The locker room was loud and rowdy, filled with their fellow teammates hyping each other up as they changed and prepared themselves.

As he reached his own gear, all of which was technically Danny’s, he was met by Jackson who was already dressed head to toe in his own gear, raring to go. “There you are. I’ve been trying to call you all day,” Jackson told him as Clark dropped his bag onto the floor.

“My phone died,” Clark told him and he technically wasn’t lying. His phone charger had been left at his house overnight and his phone had lost its battery whilst he’d been at the sheriff’s station. He did pick up his charger when he was at his house earlier that day and had charged his phone when he returned to the McCall’s. He had found Jackson’s missed calls shortly before leaving the house for the game.

“Don’t ever skip school without me again,” Jackson demanded in a tone which suggested to Clark that he’d had a hell of a day.

“What? You can’t go one day without me?” Clark retorted jokingly with a genuine grin; his first one since finding out about Laura’s death. He turned his attention from Jackson to his lacrosse strip as he began to get changed.

“Jamie spent the _whole day_ raving about ghosts. He’s completely out of it!” Jackson commented, obviously not convinced by Jamie’s insistence that ghosts were real despite Clark’s recent chat with him to shut the hell up. Clark made a note to have another chat with the guy. The lack of appearances from Cora over the last three days had convinced him that he’d allowed himself to get caught up in Jamie’s crazy explanations rather than accepting Ms Morrell’s logical one.

“Tell me about it,” Clark muttered in agreement as he exchanged his shirt for the red Cyclones shirt complete with the white number ‘4’ on the back.

“Lydia was on my case all day about getting that shot,” Jackson continued to fill him in.

“Which, considering you’re here and playing, you obvious got,” Clark inferred. “Hate to break it to you, man, but she’s got you whipped,” he joked with a light chuckle and disapproving shake of his head.

He earned a playful punch on the arm from Jackson for that comment. Other than that, Jackson chose to completely ignore the comment. “And people have been pestering me all day about you,” Jackson concluded.

“About me?” Clark played dumb as he finished changing and began to put on his protective gear. He was fairly sure he knew what they had been pestering Jackson about. In a town like Beacon Hills where many were under the impression that ‘nothing happened’ - Clark sure wished he had that impression - news travelled quickly.

“There’s some serious rumors going about,” Jackson told him. “And your no-show makes the rumors appear true.”

Jackson was dancing around the topic of the rumors, showing some tact which had to be one of the first times he’d done so in his life. “That my sister’s the dead girl and my brother murdered her?” Clark came out with what he was sure was the rumor floating around the school, speaking casually in a way which surprised the other players within hearing distance but also enticed them to continue to listen in.

“Bang on,” Jackson confirmed with a nod as Clark returned his focus to tightening his right elbow pad. It proved a good distraction to stop him from thinking about what they were actually talking about. Unbeknownst to Clark whose attention was solely on the elbow pads, Jackson was watching him closely. “That’s rough.”

“It’s life. I’m used to it,” Clark responded dismissively as he pulled one of the straps tighter. He then turned his attention to his left elbow but hesitated when his hand touched the strap, his eyes drifting upwards from the elbow pad to meet Jackson’s eyes. “He didn’t do it though,” Clark found himself defending his brother despite how angry he was at him. “I know he didn’t do it. Even if I’m the only one who seems to think that.”

Jackson placed a hand on Clark’s shoulder. “If you say he didn’t do it, I believe you.”

Clark smiled at him appreciatively and for a peaceful half a second he felt a wave of relief in which nothing else seemed to matter. Then the general hum of the locker room reminded him of the game. He pulled away from Jackson, hastily returning his whole attention to his left elbow pad, as he spoke light-heartedly, “Don’t get altruistic on me now.”

“Altruistic? Since when were you a walking thesaurus?” Jackson challenged with a laugh.

“To be honest, I’m not even sure it means what I think it means,” Clark chuckled as he finished amending his elbow pad.

“Yeah, I didn’t think you did,” Jackson retorted with a jesting disapproving shake of his head. “Now come on, we’ve got a game to win.” His helmet and lacrosse stick already in his hand, Jackson set off for the field, barely giving Clark any warning. He scrambled to grab the equipment he borrowed from Danny and set off after Jackson.

Clark caught up with Jackson as the pair neared the door but he stopped when he heard someone calling his name. Jackson continued out of the door with the rest of the team as Clark turned to see Jake behind him, holding a glove in his hand. “You dropped this,” Jake explained as he held the glove out for Clark to take.

Clark looked down at the equipment in his hands and confirmed that he did, in fact, only have one glove in his possession. He stepped forward to take back the glove that he must have dropped and muttered a thank you. He was about to turn to the door when he saw Jake’s head drop and the other teenager made a move to disappear further back into the locker room. “Aren’t you coming?” Clark asked.

Jake’s shoulder’s slumped and he sighed before answering with his own question, “What’s the point?”

Clark wasn’t following. He frowned before dumbly answering, “Of the game? Score the most goals. Win.”

“You don’t need me for that. Not now that both Jackson and Scott _are_ playing,” Jake returned.

“Ah, you were next in line for first line,” Clark realised, Jake’s disappointment suddenly making a lot more sense to him. Clark still wasn’t convinced that Jackson playing was a good idea. He would have been much happier if Jake was playing instead though he knew that Jackson would be nowhere near happy if he couldn’t play the game.

“I knew it was too good too be true,” Jake sighed again as he slumped down onto one of the benches. “As if I was going to play my first game when my dad’s actually here and not travelling for work on the other side of the world.”

“Lacrosse can get violent,” Clark reminded him. “If someone gets injured, you’ll be first on. Come on. It’s sport. Anything can happen.”

* * *

By the time Clark convinced Jake to leave the locker room, the rest of the team had all gone on ahead to the field. Clark made the walk to the field with Jake at his side, the other boy talking the entire time about his dad’s high school lacrosse playing days. Clark found himself wishing he had managed to convince Scott not to play; less so out of fear of Scott losing control and killing someone but more so to have allowed Jake to fulfill his dreams of playing lacrosse in front of his father.

As they reached the field, Clark spotted Jackson taking warm-up shots at Danny with Jamie and Kyle. Clark made a move to join them whilst Jake made a move towards the bench but Coach appeared in front of them, stopping the pair in their tracks. “Miller, you’re on,” Coach announced and Jake’s green eyes went wide in disbelief and excitement.

“Yes!” Jake exclaimed ecstatically and high-fived Clark in celebration.

“Nice one!” Clark congratulated him. “Come on, let’s go warm-up,” he instructed, making a second attempt to go and join his friends at the goal.

Coach stopped him for a second time, not by blocking his path but by saying five words, “Hale, you’re on the bench.”

Clark rounded on him. “What?” He exclaimed in utter disbelief. There was no _way_ he had worked so hard to make the team fairly only to be dropped from the first line right before the first game. “You have got to be kidding me!” He threw his arms out in frustration.

Jamie jogged over, sent by Jackson to investigate the hold-up. “What’s going on?” Jamie investigated, reaching Clark’s side and placing an arm around his neck. “We need to get you warming up your winning shots.”

Clark sharply pulled away from Jamie. “Apparently, that’s not happening,” he snapped, shooting a glare in Coach’s direction.

Jamie glanced between Clark and Coach, utterly confused. “I’ll ask again. What’s going on?” He repeated.

“I’m being benched,” Clark filled him in, his anger evident in his tone. “For this joker,” he elaborated, throwing an arm out to indicate in Jake’s direction. Jake’s previous excitement disappeared with this action, confused and slightly hurt by Clark’s sudden decision to attack him after raising his spirits just moments before. Clark had been all for Jake playing, but not at his own expense.

“You missed practice. We can’t have people seeing that you can still make the team without making practice. Then no one would turn up to practice and then we would lose,” Coach explained his reasoning.

Clark gaped at him, “I’m pretty sure I have a valid excuse.”

“ _He_ was there for the tactical discussion at practice. _You_ weren’t,” Coach explained his reasoning further, all the while Clark was shaking his head in disbelief. “It’s the first game back. We need to win to give the boys confidence.”

“If we need to win, you’d play me and not this idiot!” Clark snapped. Jake’s head dropped and his shoulder’s slumped from a lull in confidence at Clark’s exclamations. “There’s a reason you made me first line in the first place! I can do all the things Scott McCall does! Just because I didn’t show off about it like he did, doesn’t mean I can’t.”

“Why are we standing around discussing this like some kind of democracy?” Coach questioned rhetorically, receiving the three’s boys full attention when he spoke; Jake lifting his head from the ground, Clark’s angered glare as he stood his hands on his hips whilst Jamie continued to look like he still wasn’t entirely sure what Jackson had sent him into. Coach gestured sweepingly at the three players. “In case you’ve forgotten. I’m the coach. It’s my team. Which means what I say goes.” Clark huffed in frustration at that statement, shaking his head in disbelief. “Miller, you’re playing. And if you play well, it could become permanent. So show me what you can do.”

Jake’s eyes lit up again at Coach’s reinforcement that he was starting, his confidence returning and he sent an appreciative nod in Coach’s direction before jogging to join the rest of the team warming up on the field. In contrast, Clark did not share the elation that Jake had as the other boy joined the team with a spring in his step. Seething with anger at his possibly permanent replacement, Clark stormed off without another word to Coach or Jamie, flipping the bench that Coach intended him to waste his time sitting on as he passed it. The action made Stiles, who was getting ready to take up his usual position on the bench, jump back in surprise as it somersaulted in the air and landed upside down.

Jamie stared after Clark as he watched his friend channel his anger into the bench and then slamming his helmet on the floor before continuing to walk away. Clark looked far from interested in watching the game, making Jamie lose interest in playing it. He was much more concerned about ensuring that Clark was okay and possibly having to prevent him from punching a tree in anger and breaking all the bones in his hand.

Jamie started to follow Clark but Stiles stopped him when he was passing the overturned bench. “Help me with this will you?” Stiles asked, drawing Jamie’s attention off Clark and onto Stiles as he struggled to turn the bench back over on his own. As Jamie moved closer to the bench to help flip it back the right way, he noticed Stiles’ light brown eyes shifting nervously between him and a section of the bench. Jamie followed his eyes and caught sight of four long, thin scratches close to one another. They looked to him like claw marks and they quickly gained his full attention.

“Huh. They’re weird,” Jamie purposely pointed them out to gauge Stiles’ reaction. Stiles tried to act liked he had only noticed them when Jamie had pointed it out. Stiles’ look of surprise would not have convinced Jamie even if he hadn’t seen Stiles glancing towards them and trying to get the bench turned back as quickly as possible.

“A coyote must have come sniffing around one night,” Stiles shrugged dismissively as Jamie finally took hold of the bench and helped him flip it over.

“Or a wolf,” Jamie commented suggestively, rubbing his hands on his shorts after letting go of the bench.

There was the slightest hesitation before Stiles replied, “There are no wolves in California.”

Stiles felt like Jamie was watching him suspiciously but there was no way anyone in their right mind could immediately make a connection between claw marks and werewolves. However, Jamie’s recent obsession with ghosts had become well known around the school and Stiles wasn’t entirely convinced that Jamie wouldn’t make such a loose connection.

“Of course not,” Jamie responded with a nod but his tone suggested he wasn’t fully convinced.

Stiles awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck as he added, “Not for _years._ ” There was a silence that followed in which Jamie didn’t respond but also didn’t stop looking at him. Stiles felt too awkward for a staring contest and found himself scanning the growing crowd whilst waiting for Jamie to leave him alone.

“Oi! Jamie!” Stiles never imagined he would be so happy to hear Jackson’s voice but his interruption to his and Jamie’s conversation was a welcomed one. “Standing there chatting isn’t going to help us win this game.”

Jamie glanced briefly in Jackson’s direction and held up a hand to demonstrate that he had heard the captain. “But what’s stopping them from coming back?” Jamie challenged Stiles before jogging over to join the rest of the team, the claw marks and Jackson had truly distracted him from Clark. Stiles took his seat on the bench, staring after Jamie’s retreating figure with a frown on his face unable to determine whether he was being paranoid by considering the possibility that Jamie hadn’t been talking about normal wolves.

Meanwhile, Clark was storming away from the busy lacrosse field, every step purposeful and full of power as an attempt to channel his anger into the ground. He had no idea where he was going but he knew he had to get away from the lacrosse field. Only a couple of weeks ago, he didn’t care for lacrosse but suddenly it felt like the end of the world that he had been benched. He tried to focus on clenching and unclenching his fists to further channel and control his anger but in reality he had no idea what he was doing. Laura had been the one who had helped him with his anger and control; she’d found a solution for him but Clark knew that that solution had disappeared the moment the Hales had started to leave Beacon Hills. His anchor was done; now only filling him with more rage if he tried to focus on it and his control was getting worse by the day.

He needed to get away from the field. He needed to find somewhere he could clear his head but having only recently returned to his childhood town, nowhere came to mind. “Clark! Hold up!” Clark sighed when he heard someone calling his name behind him. It was just what he needed; someone chasing after him. It wasn’t Jamie, like he had been expecting it to be when considering the possibility of someone coming after him. It was a fellow American but with a slightly more matured tone. Unable to place his pursuer by voice alone, Clark turned around to face him and was slightly surprised to see his history teacher gaining on him.

The surprise, at least, proved a slight distraction from the anger he had built up towards lacrosse allowing him to grip on to his control and avoid attacking his innocent teacher. His heart was still beating fast, his body still seething with frustration and his fists were still clenched but he wasn’t cutting into his palms with sharp claws and he was fairly sure that his eyes were their normal brown as opposed to a glowing yellow so that was a plus. “Mr Kenneth. You’re going to miss the game,” Clark shot at him bitterly before turning to set off on his way again.

“So are you,” Mr Kenneth returned in a laid-back manner and Clark sighed before turning back to him because it was apparent he wasn’t going to give in that easily. The young teacher was stood casually with his hands stuck in the pockets in of his dark blue jeans and was watching Clark with a friendly smile on his face.

“Coach dropped me from first line. He’s playing Jake Miller instead. I’m not going to waste my time sitting there watching other people play,” Clark replied coldly.

“Yes, you are,” Mr Kenneth responded, not in an authoritative tone but in a way that said _‘and you’re going to do so because you want to’_. “That’s what I’m going to do,” he added with a shrug.

“But you’re a spectator. That’s the whole point. You’re here because you want to watch,” Clark argued and hesitated, frowning as a thought popped into his head, before adding, “Or they pay you overtime to be here?”

Mr Kenneth chuckled at the student’s afterthought. “I wish,” he responded with a laugh and a shake of his head. Then his smile faded as he returned to the topic at hand. “I’m a spectator. You’re a team member.” Clark opened his mouth to argue but Mr Kenneth raised a hand, effectively stopping him. “Just because you’re not starting this game doesn’t mean you’re not on the team. You played basketball at your last school so-”

“How do you know that?” Clark cut him off to challenge his knowledge, somewhat accusingly.

“I read through the file your last school sent over,” Mr Kenneth explained. “Not all teachers bother. I guess I’m just new and enthusiastic. They say it won’t last. Anyway, being this school’s basketball coach, I had been hoping you’d join the team. We need all the help we can get. But I get it; friends can be particularly persuasive…” he caught himself taking the conversation far from his original point. “Anyway, you’ve played a team game before. You shouldn’t need me to tell you that being part of a team isn’t just about playing. It’s about being a team. Supporting each other. Tell me I’m wrong.”

Clark didn’t respond immediately but Mr Kenneth knew that he had backed him into a corner and did all he could to keep a straight face and fight the smug smile tugging at his lips. “I can’t.” Clark eventually responded exactly as Mr Kenneth expected.

With Clark’s admission he allowed the smug smile to appear on his face and folded his arms, “So, where are you going?”

Clark hesitated again before reluctantly answering, “Back to the game.”

Mr Kenneth nodded with a satisfied grin. Job done.

* * *

Clark returned to the lacrosse field as the two teams were preparing themselves for the start of the game. He nodded at Mr Kenneth in appreciation as the teacher left him to search for a spare seat in the packed bleachers. He took a seat next to Stiles, joining Scott’s best friend and a few other players on the bench. “Your friend,” Stiles nodded towards Jamie who was on the field keeping himself on his toes as he waited for the whistle, “has been asking questions about the damage to the bench.”

“Don’t worry about him. He’ll believe anything I tell him,” Clark responded dismissively as his eyes scanned the field, landing on Jackson who had taken up his starting position next to the referee, waiting for the opposing team’s captain to join them.

Stiles was about to respond when the presence of a hand clasping down on his left shoulder stopped him from doing so. He glanced around to see his dad. “Hey kid,” Noah greeted, bringing Clark’s attention to the Sheriff’s presence. Stiles returned the greeting whilst Clark gave him a short nod as a form of acknowledgment before turning back to the field, locating Scott who was readying himself for the game. “So you think you’ll see any action tonight?” The sheriff asked his son.

“Action?” Stiles repeated his dad’s word and glanced at Clark. “Maybe…” He answered uncertainly as he and Clark shared knowing and unsure looks. Clark hastily looked back to Scott, determined to keep a close eye on the new werewolf for the entirety of the game, as the Sheriff left to find himself a seat.

The referee blew his whistle and the game started well for the Cyclones with Jackson winning the face-off. “Yes! Start as you mean to go on,” Clark muttered to himself in celebration, not noticing himself shuffling forward until he was literally on the edge of his seat watching the team put some good passes together.

Four minutes in and the game was going considerably well. The Cyclones had maintained most of the possession of the ball and the opposing team had hardly threatened their goal at all. The only annoying part for Clark was that Jake had been playing considerably well and had even made the first shot at goal, only for it to be stopped by the opposing team’s goalkeeper making a sensational save. A few supporters had been on their feet celebrating too early when Jake had first made the shot and Coach had sent some encouraging praise in Jake’s direction despite him not scoring.

The ball was loose on the ground, neither team in possession and it looked as if Scott was finally going to touch the ball. For the opening four minutes, Scott had essentially been a ghost, not getting involved in the game at all and Clark had been more than happy for that to continue for the rest of the game. As Scott neared the ball, Clark found himself hoping he wouldn’t try and do anything with it. _Just pass the ball and move on,_ Clark thought to himself before Scott had even reached it and moments before Jackson appeared out of nowhere, shouldering Scott onto the ground. Jackson scooped the ball up for himself and, through on goal, made a shot, effectively beating the keeper in a way Jake had not.

In any other circumstance, Clark would have been on his feet instantly celebrating Jackson’s goal. Instead he found his eyes were fixed firmly on Scott, hopping and praying that the new wolf didn’t lose control and tear his best friend to shreds.

As the crowd, Coach, Jackson and most of the team celebrated, Scott pushed himself back onto his feet. Clark could see that Scott was looking in Jackson direction but because of the protective helmets, Clark had no way of reading his facial expression. Beside him, Stiles groaned in frustration - anyone would think the other team had scored - and turned away from the field. A big sign being held up in the bleachers which read ‘ _We luv u Jackson’_ caught Stiles’ attention and he groaned when he noticed it was being held up by Lydia and Allison. “Brutal,” Stiles winced as he turned back to the field to check on Scott who had also noticed it and was shaking his head disapprovingly. “Oh, this is not going to be good.”

Clark was busy focusing on Jackson who had called all the team - except for Scott - to him for a discussion. Zoning in, Clark just about caught the end of the conversation with Danny reluctantly saying _“Don’t pass to McCall”_ before the group disbanded and readied themselves to go again.

Despite the promising start, things took a turn for the worse. The Cyclones’ first goal gave the opposition the motivation that they needed to focus up and grow into the game. With only one minute and twenty-nine seconds left they were three-five down with Jackson scoring two of their goals and no other than Jake Miller scoring the third.

“This isn’t good,” Clark muttered, picking up on Scott’s low growls as he waited for the whistle. His frustration had only been getting higher and higher as the game had gone on and he’d had no sight of the ball. The opposing team member nearest to Scott had obviously picked up on it too for he took some nervous steps back, increasing the distance between them.

Stiles was nervously chewing on one of his gloves as his eyes watched Scott like a hawk. “You’ve got a plan in case he wolfs out, right?” He checked with Clark.

“Not exactly,” Clark admitted slowly.

Stiles did a double-take in his direction before demanding, “What do you mean ‘not exactly’?”

“I’m not good with plans. I leave that sort of thing to Derek and his plan involved not letting Scott play the game at any cost,” Clark explained. “He didn’t plan for this and I have no idea what to do because, believe it or not, I had a mostly normal life back in New York and didn’t have to deal with problems like this every single day!”

“You’re so helpful,” Stiles commented sarcastically.

“I don’t see you being much help either!” Clark shot back.

Scott was looking past the arguing boys and into the crowd, making Stiles glance around to work out what he had spotted. Lydia and Allison were back on their feet with yet another sign, this time one that read _‘Jackson is #1’._ “Well, that’s definitely not helpful,” Stiles commented.

Clark turned to see what Stiles was talking about and groaned; not at the sign that the girls were holding up but at the presence of Chris Argent. “Oh perfect. Argent’s here. This can’t get any worse,” Clark muttered as he turned back to the field.

“They can,” Stiles assured him as the referee blew his whistle. “And they might.”

Clark watched as Jackson lost out on the face-off to his opponent who immediately launched the ball high into the air and in the direction of his own teammates. As that teammate prepared to receive the ball, Scott launched himself in the air, jumping over the opposition player and snatching the ball out of the air at the same time. With possession of the ball for the first time that game, Scott had a point to prove. He weaved through countless players until he had a shot on goal and powered the ball into the back of the net.

Beside Clark, Stiles jumped up in celebration, exclaiming surprised yeses as he punched the air. Clark remained sitting on the bench, gripping onto it tightly with his hands. One wrong move from Scott and the whole field could quickly descend into chaos. The remaining one minute and five seconds could not go fast enough as far as Clark was concerned; a thought he probably shared with the opposition players, supporters and coach.

The resulting face-off was once again won by the opposition team; Scott’s latest display of phenomenal ability looked to have thrown Jackson off. The opposition looked to be playing the possession game; putting easy passes together with the plan to run down the clock. At least, it looked that way until one of the players ended up face to face with Scott and ended up throwing him the ball. As Coach joined Stiles to marvel at what had just happened, Scott wasted no time in gaining on the opposing goal, dodging past players with speed and agility. The subsequent shot from his solo run powered straight through the net of the keeper’s stick.

As the home crowd celebrated, Coach managed to argue that the goal should still stand and, with thirty-nine seconds left on the clock, Scott had almost single-handedly pegged the team back to five-five.

Scott quickly found himself in possession of the ball again but suddenly stopped running, hunching over and turning his head between the opposing players erratically. The players faltered nervously, looking to each other and waiting for someone else to approach first. Clark avoided the urge to push himself onto his feet. If needed, he would intervene somehow but if he were to invade the pitch and pull Scott off, he was fairly certain Coach would have his head and Argent would grow suspicious. “Come on Scott,” he muttered to himself, glancing towards the clock which was slowly ticking down.

_7_

_6_

_5_

Two players either side of Scott grew impatient, making a run at him which sparked him into action.

_4_

Scott pulled his stick back, readying himself for the shot.

_3_

Scott flung the ball through the air with power.

_2_

Everything seemed to go slow motion as everyone fell silent, watching the ball nervously.

_1_

The ball hit the back of the net.

_0_

The scoreboard clicked over to six-five as the whistle blew signalling the end of the game. The home supporters and players flew into celebration as it processed that they had scored and won the game. Supporters flocked onto the field whilst Clark found himself celebrating with Stiles, jumping up and down with him and high-fiving.

Clark was about to go off and find Jackson, Danny, Kyle and Jamie to celebrate with when Stiles spoke up, drawing his attention to the Sheriff. “Dad, what’s wrong?” Noah was stood only a few feet away from them, his brow furrowed slightly as he spoke into the phone he had by his ear. He held up a finger in Stiles’ direction, signalling for him to wait until after the call.

Jamie charged over, an ecstatic grin on his face, and placed a hand down on Clark’s shoulder when he reached them. “We won, mate!” He exclaimed. “How crazy was that?”

Clark grinned at him, “I know. What a comeback!”

“Are you going to come and celebrate?” Jamie asked, indicating towards where Danny, Kyle, Jake and most of the other players were gathering and looking ready to find somewhere better than a school field to celebrate. “I don’t think Jackson’s coming. He seems pissed about having his thunder stolen but pretty much everyone else seems up for it.”

“Erm… you go. I might catch you up. We’ll see,” Clark replied indecisively.

“Alright, well, I’ll drop you a text. Let you know where we end up,” Jamie responded, already taking steps back towards the team. Clark nodded at him before Jamie turned to jog back to the team.

“What’s happened?” Stiles asked eagerly as soon as he saw his dad end the call and return his phone to his pocket.

The Sheriff ignored his son, turning instead to face Clark. “The ME report on your sister’s cause of death has come back. It was an animal attack. Derek’s been released,” Noah informed him gently.

Out of the corner of his eye, Clark saw Stiles’ jaw drop and then he left in a hurry, no doubt to report back to Scott.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we have it! Another chapter done and we’ve finally covered the events of the second episode. Thank you to those who have stuck with me this far, I know it’s taking a while to get going but it will all pay off as we go on!
> 
> The next chapter will introduce the ‘romance’ (I use that term really lightly) arc which will be extremely slow burning.


	17. An Unexpected Night

After a lot of searching, Clark eventually found Jackson in the locker room. It had been the first place he’d checked but after checking everywhere else and confirming that his Porsche was still in the school parking lot, Clark had decided to double-back. They must have missed each other at some point. The locker room was empty and unnervingly quiet; Clark had never been in there after so many people had left. He was used to the rowdiness.

The only noise that was being made in the almost empty locker room were sporadic thuds as Jackson angrily shoved his gear into his bag. “Yay! You won!” Clark cheered sarcastically. The way Jackson was acting made it seem like a bad thing. The team’s captain only grunted in response. Clark frowned, puzzled as he leaned against the nearest locker. “Hmm. Aren’t you supposed to be happy?”

Jackson shot Clark a look which clearly said _‘are you kidding me’_ as he chucked his gloves into his sports bag. “You saw McCall at the end of that game. He was insane. It was like he was…” Jackson trailed off, trying to find the right word to describe it.

“Possessed?” Clark filled in for him with a smile.

“Don’t go all Jamie on me,” Jackson replied with a shake of his head, immediately catching Clark’s reference. “But come on, the other team were passing the ball to him. That’s not normal.”

“Since when is McCall normal?” Clark returned with a shrug. “I don’t know, man. Maybe he bribed them?” It was the only explanation Clark could find in the moment that Jackson would potentially accept.

“Maybe,” Jackson nodded in agreement but secretly he wasn’t convinced. Scott’s torn glove which he had found abandoned on the field only added to his questions and his determination to find out what exactly was going on with McCall. “At least your brother’s been released,” Jackson moved the conversation on partly upon remembering Derek’s wordless presence on the field when he’d found the glove.

“Oh, you heard about that?” Clark asked in surprise.

“Yeah, saw him at the field,” Jackson told him as he returned to packing his stuff away in a slightly calmer manner than when Clark had first entered.

“You did?” Clark replied, Jackson’s words surprising him again. He frowned, wondering if Derek had seen any of the game and if he knew that he hadn’t stopped Scott from playing. If he did, Clark knew that conversation was going to be _fun_.

Jackson nodded and raised an eyebrow at Clark’s troubled expression. “Aren’t you supposed to be happy?” He used Clark’s earlier question against.

“Oh, you’re hilarious!” Clark muttered, tone dripping in sarcasm as he rolled his eyes at the smug look Jackson had on his face for effectively turning the tables. Clark sighed before explaining, “I’m glad he’s out. He’s still my brother and I don’t want he being accused of something he didn’t do _but_ I’m still more than pissed about how he lied to me. I’m certainly not in the mood to go home and face him right now.” Clark studied one of the benches. “Maybe I’ll just sleep here. I mean, one night in the school isn’t going to kill me, is it?”

“You’re not spending the night at the school,” Jackson told him matter-of-factly as he did up the zipper on his bag, throwing the strap over his shoulder.

“Oh, come on! What’s the worse that can happen?” Clark questioned, laying down on the bench and popping his lacrosse shirt under his head to prove his point that he could sleep there. “The janitor flipping out if he catches me,” he answered his own question.

Jackson pulled the shirt out from underneath Clark’s head, resulting in Clark slamming his head against the hard wood of the bench. He sat up, rubbing the back of his head and shooting a glare at Jackson as the other boy insisted, “You’re not sleeping here. There’s plenty of spare room at my house.”

“Ooooh,” Clark drew out, illustrating that Jackson had caught his interest, and he jumped up onto his feet. “Does this mean I get to drive the Porsche?”

Jackson laughed, “Not a chance.”

\--TW:H--

_The tire swing hanging from one of the many trees outside the large house swung a little in the steady breeze. Moonlight from the full moon hanging in the night sky was the strongest of two sources of slight in the clearing; the second, the warm orange light escaping the windows of the solitary house._

_Clark stepped out from behind one of the trees and into the moonlit clearing in front of the house. The sound of chatter and joy reached his ears, travelling from the people-filled house across the way. Clark’s attention was drawn to a dark figure a few steps in front of him who was busy pouring liquid onto the floor. Clark couldn’t make out exactly what he was up to but the uneasy feeling in his stomach suggested it was nothing good._

_As Clark took a step forward, determined to investigate further, a third light source was added to the clearing. It was small but easy to see in the poorly lit clearing and came from the hand of the dark figure ahead of him. A small, orange flicker. A flame, no doubt sourced from a lighter. The flame was small but it took away the darkness and mystery from the previously dark figure. Derek._

_“Derek?” Clark called out cautiously. He was lost and confused. He had gone to Jackson’s house. How had he ended up at his house? Who were all the people in it? Who had rebuilt it? Why wasn’t it fire damaged? Clark’s eyes widened in realisation as he looked from the lighter in Derek’s hand to the liquid he’d seen him pour on the floor; liquid which made a trail leading right up to the front door of the house. “No. This isn’t what happened.”_

_Derek, who had until that point been focused solely on the flame in his hand, rounded on him. “How would you know?” Derek spat out, his eyes a dangerous blue and a sadistic smile crept across his face. “You’re just a kid. We don’t tell you anything. Except what we want you to believe.”_

_“Wha-? We?” Clark spluttered out, lost for words and completely unnerved by the version of his brother in front of him with his hand holding the lighter so loosely he could drop it at any minute._

_Derek let out a laugh; a truly calculating and unnatural laugh which made Clark swallow uneasily. “Little Clark Hale. Stumbling around, completely blind to what’s going on around him.”_

_“So pathetically clueless.” The harsh voice which suddenly came from behind him made Clark jump and he spun around, heart beating out of his chest, to see Laura, smirking as she walked past him to join Derek._

_Clark wanted to scream and shout as loud as he could, to protest that it wasn’t real and that nothing they were saying was true but his throat was dry and his voice betrayed him. He was left helpless with nothing to do but stare at them in horror as they laughed at him, taking a lot of amusement from his situation._

_“We’ve lied to you all your life. And you believed us, you naïve fool,” Derek shot at him, twirling the lighter in his hand like it was nothing. The way he played with it so easily, knowing full well what would happen if he were to drop it, made Clark feel physically sick._

_“Now, it’s time you know the truth,” Laura declared._

_Derek’s manic grin faltered then disappeared entirely and the lighter in his hand was stopped still, “What?”_

_“No more lies,” Laura insisted. “It’s time we stopped lying. It’s time he knew the truth.”_

_If looks could kill, Laura would be dead given the glare Derek was shooting in her direction. “I’m not ready,” he snarled. Before Clark could do anything, the lighter left Derek’s hand. In an instant, the clearing was filled with light and warmth as a river of roaring flame paved the way from Derek to the house. Bloodcurdling screams echoed from the house as it lit up but there was an equally horrific sight occurring right in front of Clark’s eyes._

_His legs were rooted to the spot and he could do nothing but stare in sickening horror as his brother mauled his sister to death just feet away from him and against the backdrop of their family burning alive._

\--TW:H--

Jackson wasn’t woken by the all-too familiar and annoyingly insistent and high-pitched bleeping of his alarm clock but by the sound of shouts from the other room. Half-asleep and dazed, Jackson stumbled out of his bed, groaning at the sight of the clock with read 3.14am. “It’s far too early for this,” he grumbled to himself as he stumbled towards his bedroom door. “What the hell is he playing at?” He continued to mutter away to himself as he opened the door and made the short journey across the hall to the guest bedroom.

Jackson liked his sleep and he definitely did not appreciate getting woken up in the middle of the night. Not bothering to knock, determined to get Clark to shut up and return to sleeping himself as soon as possible, Jackson barged through the door and hit the light switch to the right of it with purpose. He had to squint as the sudden influx of light started his pupils but they quickly adjusted.

Clark sat upright abruptly in the bed as light flooded the room, pulling him out of his night terrors. He was gasping for air as his light brown hair flopped over his forehead, sticking to it from the sweat that had gathered. Clark’s brown eyes darted around the unfamiliar room, lost and confused until they landed on Jackson and a hinted of recognition flickered in them.

Jackson immediately felt awkward, a feeling echoed by Clark as he slowly realised what must have happened. Feeling vulnerable - an emotion he hated experiencing, especially around Jackson - Clark resorted pulling his knees up against his chest in an attempt to shield himself. Jackson, meanwhile, had no idea what to say as he awkwardly lingered near the door. He was fighting the urge to simply turn and reunite with his own bed because that would only make things more awkward in the morning. Clark had once been his best friend; after meeting on their first day of kindergarten, the two boys had quickly become inseparable and Jackson had grown up telling him everything. But after six years of no contact, Jackson had no idea where he stood with Clark any longer. Things felt different. He put it down to the fact that they weren’t kids anymore.

“I could have kicked the door in. You had me thinking someone was murdering you,” Jackson eventually spoke jokingly.

Clark took in a sharp breath as images of Laura being torn in half before his very eyes flashed in his mind as a result of Jackson’s comment. He quickly pushed them away and forced a smile because he couldn’t have Jackson seeing how _imperfect_ he was. It had hit him when Coach had benched him; the reason why things with Jackson had felt off ever since his return. Jackson was _perfect;_ he was the popular guy, the top athlete who was captain of both the lacrosse and swim teams with the perfect girlfriend and the perfect best friend in Danny who everybody seemed to like in an infuriating way. Clark, who’d lost the majority of his family to a fire and whose sister was the dead girl the entire school had been whispering about for the past week, was not perfect and _this_ would not help his attempts to rebuild the friendship that they’d once have. “And you expected to chase off a murderer with your bare hands?” Clark observed as he forced himself to match Jackson’s joking tone.

“I’m that good,” Jackson shrugged arrogantly.

“Yeah… right,” Clark muttered, not at all convinced and rolling his eyes at Jackson’s statement.

If he’d had something soft like a pillow to hand, Jackson would have thrown it at him. Instead, the nearest thing he had was his collection of sports trophies over the years. Not only did he decide it was best not to injure Clark, he also didn’t want to damage one of his trophies. He was begrudgingly left with no choice but to let the comment slide. “Since there’s no threat to your life, I’m going back to bed,” Jackson declared.

As Jackson’s hand reached for the light switch, Clark didn’t think being plunged into darkness would be overly comforting following the images his brain had dreamt up for him. “Hey Jackson,” Clark had intended to sound casual but the words came out in a hurry, determined to stop him before he turned the light off. Jackson stopped before he reached the light and looked at Clark with intrigue. “You remember all those sleepovers we used to have?”

“I remember you frequently spending the night here. We never did them at your house,” Jackson confirmed that he did remember.

“My house was permanently like the start of _Home Alone_. My mom would never let us add to the chaos,” Clark reminded him of the childhood excuse he’d had for rarely inviting Jackson to his. “We used to sleep in the same room; head and tail in the bed and no matter how hard we tried, we never did successfully pull an all-nighter,” Clark reminisced, the slightest smile appearing on his face as he remembered all the stupid things they got up to. Pillow fights, pranks and sneaking downstairs in the middle of the night for snacks without alerting his parents. They had always made it overly dramatic, acting as if they had suddenly found themselves in the middle of a _Mission Impossible_ movie.

Jackson hesitated and eyed the light switch wistfully; he had been set on quietening Clark and returning to his peaceful sleep. Clark’s shouts had stopped. Mission Accomplished! Yet, for a reason inexplicable to Jackson himself, he found himself creeping further into the guest room and sitting himself down on the edge of the bed. “Yeah ‘cause you always fell asleep,” He shovelled all the blame in Clark’s direction for their continuous fails over their early years.

Clark appeared to relax a little once Jackson was away from the light switch. His shoulders untensed and his wide, alert eyes lightened as he took in the teenager perching on the end of the bed. “No way!” Clark protested with a smile which didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You always crashed first.”

Jackson shook his head adamantly, “You’re remembering it wrong.”

“Instead of arguing about it, I propose a rematch,” Clark suggested, loosening his grip around his legs and stretching them out down the length of the bed. “Right here. Right now. See who falls asleep first.”

Jackson was no longer the child he had been when they had plotted to stay awake the entire night. He was a teenager. A teenager who, liked the majority of teenagers, loved and valued his sleep. A teenager who, with school, lacrosse, swimming and maintaining his social life and reputation, never got enough sleep. Sleep was precious to him but if there was one thing that Jackson hated more than anything, it was losing. Clark’s challenge may have been childish - and secretly a ploy to avoid being left alone - but Jackson was determined to win it. “You’re on.” Jackson accepted and stifled a yawn before confidently stating, “You’re going down.”

“Not a chance,” Clark insisted with a shake of his head. He had become the king of sleep deprivation recently. There was a moment of silence which followed in which both boys were determined to keep themselves alert and awake. Clark found himself staring into Jackson’s blue eyes, willing them to close whilst marvelling at just how blue they were. They were like a utopian ocean, free of pollution. He had never picked up on that before. _Weird._ “Hey man,” Clark spoke up as he propped himself up against the headboard with one of the many pillows on the bed - who needed six pillows? “Since it’s three in the morning and we’re depriving ourselves of sleep for childish reasons, can I get real for you?”

Jackson was surprised at Clark’s tone; there was a sincerity to it which suggested things were about to get serious. He scoffed, keeping things light-hearted himself, “Dude, if you’re about to tell me you’ve got a thing for McCall, I don’t want to hear it.”

Clark let out an exasperated sigh. “You need to get your hearing tested. I’ve already told you at least twice that I don’t.”

Jackson didn’t miss a beat, “Which is why you spent the majority of our chemistry lesson on Monday staring at him.”

Clark remembered that chemistry lesson perfectly; at least he could remember watching Scott for the entirety of it. He couldn’t remember anything that Mr Harris had taught them. Chemistry had been their first lesson of the day and Clark had been staring at Scott thinking all about how his life would be so much easier had Scott not gotten bitten. Until that point, Clark had been completely unaware that Jackson had spotted him. “You said it yourself! Something’s going on with him!” It was the only excuse that Clark’s sleep deprived brain could think up in the moment. It was only after he’d said it that he realised it would only spur Jackson’s determination to find out exactly what Scott was up to.

“So you do agree with me!” Jackson realised and leaned forward, as if he was getting ready to discuss theories.

“This isn’t what I wanted to talk about,” Clark interjected quickly before Jackson could continue. He could only hope that Jackson was too tired to remember the conversation in the morning. In the meantime, he hastily guided the conversation back on track. “Do you feel like things have been different? Ever since I came back?”

“McCall’s started taking steroids,” Jackson began to list off and Clark had to hold back a groan. Jackson was really focused on the cause of Scott’s miraculous lacrosse abilities. Jackson was like a dog with a bone once his mind was set on something. It was only another thing adding to the complexity of his life since returning to Beacon Hills. “Jamie’s obsessed with ghosts.” Oh, and there was another.

Clark interrupted Jackson before he could continue to highlight all of Clark’s problems. Jackson had misunderstood him. “That’s not what I mean. I mean are we different?”

Jackson stared at him as if he had asked the most ridiculous question. “We’re both six years older. We’ve both gotten taller. We’ve both started working out,” Jackson started listing off, completely misinterpreting Clark’s question for the second time. Clark didn’t stop him immediately, however, and ignored him as he continued on. His attention had immediately drifted from Jackson’s words when his friend had mentioned working out. Instead, Clark’s eyes had meandered down to Jackson’s shirtless body; his muscle definition clear and impressive.

Clark’s eyes snapped upwards in an instant when he caught himself checking out his friend. His brown eyes met Jackson’s oblivious blue ones; the same eyes he’d almost gotten lost in a few minutes earlier. His thoughts wandered back to the first time he’d seen Lydia and Jackson together and the brief but strong shoot of jealousy he had felt when they had kissed. He hadn’t been able to explain it at the time but Clark’s own eyes widened and his heart rate quickened as he realised exactly what was happening.

He was crushing on his childhood best friend.

As if he didn’t already have enough problems.

* * *

An hour had passed since they had started their little challenge and Jackson smiled smugly as he watched Clark’s eyes flutter to a shut and his shoulders slump, giving into sleep. Jackson’s long awaited victory was anticlimactic with no one around to celebrate with. Jackson had known for sure within five minutes of them starting the challenge that he had it in the bag. Clark had suddenly gone really quiet, leaving Jackson to do most of the talking to which he had gotten minimalistic grunts and nods in response.

Jackson stood up, finally able to return to his own bed. The clock on the wall read 4.40am, leaving Jackson with the chance to get two and a half hours sleep in his own bed before he would have to get up and ready for another day of school. It wasn’t ideal but it was something at least. He was across the room in an instant, his bed calling him, and his hand was inches away from the light switch when he heard it.

Unintelligible mumbles travelled across the room to his ears, escaping from Clark’s mouth. Glancing over his shoulder, Jackson caught sight of Clark’s body making harsh movements in his sleep. The nightmares had evidently returned. Jackson hadn’t realised that Clark suffered from them but his overly tired appearance at school and the occasional times he’d nudged Clark awake at the back of their history class suddenly made sense. For the second time that night, Jackson’s hand retreated from the light switch without turning it off.

His return to the bed Clark lied on was slower than the speed at which he had left. Clark’s movements increased in franticness in the time it took Jackson to make the small journey from the door to the bed. Upon reaching the bed, Jackson hesitated but eventually placed a hand down on Clark’s shoulder.

Clark had to be a light sleeper for as soon as Jackson’s hand made contact with his shoulder, he stirred. His eyes flickered open and Jackson marvelled at how drained and exhausted Clark suddenly looked to him. Clark’s brow furrowed as he realised that Jackson was standing over him and no longer sitting on the end of the bed. “You fell asleep,” Jackson stated, unable to hide the smugness in his voice as he brought that up. He had to share his victory with someone. “Then you started having your nightmare again.”

“Nothing new there,” Clark muttered in exhaustion, struggling to keep his eyes open as he spoke.

Jackson felt a pang of sympathy for the guy. There he was complaining about one night’s interrupted sleep when Clark was obviously sleep deprived. He should have seen it before - he _had_ seen it before - but he had been too caught up with lacrosse, Scott and his shoulder to do anything about it. Jackson was not one to feel guilt often but the sudden vulnerability that he could see in Clark flooded him with it. He felt like he’d been punched in the gut.

Jackson shifted awkwardly onto the bed beside Clark whose head jerked towards him immediately. Unbeknownst to Jackson, Clark’s heartbeat began racing as their arms brushed against each other. Clark had never been so relieved that Jackson wasn’t a werewolf. Not only was Jackson’s temperament bad for a werewolf but Clark did not need him picking up on the way his heartbeat surged when they had touched.

In his half-asleep daze, Clark’s surprised look at Jackson’s actions came across as a look that demanded to know what he thought he was doing. Jackson was more than surprised at the bitter disappointment he felt from that reaction. He was _everyone’s_ type; Clark should want to be in bed with him. Jackson faltered; why was he even thinking about Clark _wanting_ that. He hurriedly cleared his mind, moving on quickly with a determination to focus on Clark’s nightmare problem. “You know I went through a period of having nightmares,” Jackson revealed to him before hastily adding, “When I was like… five.”

Clark stared at him blankly, too tired to talk. The blank look made Jackson question whether he was even taking in what he was saying. “It always helped me to sleep when my mom… stayed with me,” Jackson admitted slowly. When Clark didn’t protest to what he was insinuating, continuing to stare blankly with occasional heavy blinks, Jackson shuffled further down the bed until he was able to rest his head on the pillows. He was laying on his side, staring at Clark who was on the far side of the bed. “My mom used to do this thing. It… uh, it helped,” He explained awkwardly before shuffling closer because if he really wanted to help Clark to get a few hours of peaceful sleep, he couldn’t do it from the other side of the bed.

Jackson hesitated again as he stopped shuffling and ended up half a pillow’s length from Clark. The other teenager was making him unsure of his actions. He didn’t know why and he didn’t like it.

Slowly, Jackson reached his hand out and tentatively started playing with Clark’s dark brown hair. It was something his mom used to do following the spurt of nightmares he had after first finding out he was adopted. His adoptive parents had told him as soon as they thought he was old enough to understand but they’d left out the more gruesome information that they had died in a car crash until he was slightly older. Five year old Jackson had been plagued by nightmares of two sets of parents fighting over him. Looking back, Jackson realised that was not a nightmare; the nightmare was the reality.

Nevertheless, five year old Jackson had always found his mom playing with his hair after a nightmare reassuring and had decided it was worth a try to help Clark. He relaxed when Clark didn’t immediately pull away from him. Instead, Clark did the opposite and shifted closer to him until his head was resting against Jackson’s chest. Jackson caught himself smiling at the intimate movement, watching as Clark drifted off to sleep to the sound of his heartbeat of the feeling of his fingers running through his hair. Jackson followed suit only a few minutes later.


	18. Party Plans

Wednesday night had been… unexpectedly eye-opening.

Other than that, Clark had no idea _what_ it was. He had awoken the next morning to find himself alone in the bed, questioning whether the entire thing had been a dream. He almost convinced himself that it had been until he realised that the four pillows he pushed to the other side of the bed - because who need six? - had been disturbed. No, it hadn’t been a dream.

But Jackson had gone. Not just from the room but from the entire house over an hour earlier than he needed to for him to get to school on time. He had told his mom that he had a swim practice. that morning. Clark knew otherwise. Swim practice was Friday mornings, not Thursdays. Clark had learned that when Jackson had tried to convince him to join the swim team. The early morning meets, on a _Friday_ no less, had put Clark off more than the fact that he was a terrible swimmer. Jackson had lied. Why? Clark had no idea but he had set off for school early determined to find out.

That ended up being a total write-off.

In fact, the whole of Thursday had been a total write-off.

His arrival at the school had been met by one of the sheriff’s deputies and his social worker. At least it had gotten off school for another day.

But that was how Clark’s Friday morning started off in the McCall’s guest room, groaning as he was woken by bright sunlight breaking into the room four whole minutes before his alarm was due to go off. Apparently, a fire-damaged shell of a house was not a ‘safe and nurturing’ home environment. Living with the McCall’s had suddenly started looking a lot more long-term. On the plus side, Clark reasoned as he climbed out of bed, he didn’t have to deal with Derek every day.

Clark pushed Derek out of his head as he shifted through the few outfits he had at the McCall’s and picked out some black jeans and a red plaid shirt. His second attempt to return to his ‘normal’ school life would be a Derek-free day. His mind was too preoccupied with _whatever_ it was with Jackson to think about the whole Derek fiasco.

Clark sighed as he studied himself in the mirror which hung off-centre on the wall. No werewolf business. No weird ghost stuff. He just wanted one day where he could focus on _whatever_ had happened on Wednesday night. “Is that too much to ask?” Clark caught himself talking to his reflection in the mirror.

* * *

The walk from Scott’s house to the high school was not as long as the one from his childhood home but Clark still would rather have been able to drive it instead. Something told him, however, that he would not be getting a car anytime soon. Operation ‘Get-Derek-to-Buy-Me-a-Car-For-My-Birthday’ had recently hit a wall.

Walking past the high school parking lot, Clark caught sight of Jackson’s sleek black truck taking centre-stage in the middle of the lot. He had evidently made the rare decision to choose his truck over his Porsche as his method of transport for the day. Clark scoffed and gave a small shake of his head. Who needed two cars? He wondered whether he could convince Jackson to give him the keys to the truck for his birthday. After all, it wasn’t _just_ his birthday. _No._ He shook his head to push the thought away. That was far too presumptuous.

Clark entered the school building, on auto-pilot mode as he made his way to his locker. It was there that his eyes landed on Jackson for the first time since Wednesday night. He was leaning casually against Kyle’s locker surrounded by their usual herd of friends.

Clark ran a hand through his hair; a simple action but one that had caused his mind to race when Jackson had started doing it that night. He’d immediately felt a lot more relaxed, Jackson’s tentative fingers running through his hair was surprisingly reassuring. Fuelled by sleep-deprived confidence, Clark had made his move, shifting closer to the other teenager, snuggling up against his warm body and resting his head on Jackson’s chest. Looking back, Clark would have fully expected Jackson to shove him off. A smile crept on to his face as he realised that even though he didn’t know _what_ Wednesday night had been, it had been _something._

His eyes met Jackson’s blue ones and his smile grew. The books in his locker could wait Clark decided as he took a step towards the group of friends. Jackson didn’t share Clark’s smile as his blue eyes were cold and distant before he broke eye-contact. A small frown flickered onto Clark’s face as his smile disappeared. He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting but that wasn’t it.

Danny’s brown eyes met Clark’s as he continued his approach to his friends, nonetheless. They were warmer than Jackson’s, giving Clark a friendlier vibe. Danny said something, though Clark couldn’t hear what. The general chattering of the other students that filled the hallway preventing Clark from catching his words. He was still too far away.

Whatever Danny said must have been about him for Jamie did a double-take over his shoulder. Jamie’s bright blue eyes matched Danny’s in warmth, a stark contrast to Jackson’s. A huge grin was plastered over Jamie’s face as he waved and called out, “Hey! Clark!” Jamie enthusiastically beckoned him over and even went as far as to shove Kyle so there was room for Clark to stand right next to him. “I’m so glad you’re back. Jackson was _extra_ moody yesterday!” The guy had no filter.

Clark sent a questioning look in Jackson’s direction but he was too busy sending a sharp glare in Jamie’s direction. Jamie wasn’t fazed at all, evidently used to being on the receiving end of such glares.

“You sure you’re ready to be back in school?” Danny asked, his concerned gaze fixed on Clark.

“This keeps me distracted. Distractions are good,” Clark shrugged in response, eager to move away from the topic of Laura’s death that Danny was referring to. Distractions didn’t work when people talked about it. He received doubtful looks from Danny and Kyle whilst Jamie looked totally oblivious to the cause of their concern and Jackson busied himself with inspecting the floor. “Trust me. I’ve had plenty of experience with grief,” he shot at them bitterly.

Kyle raised his eyebrows. He didn’t look at all convinced but he didn’t argue. “I think we all need a good party,” he commented lightly.

Clark glanced at Jackson to gauge his reaction to Kyle’s comment. He hadn’t heard the guy say anything since he joined them. It wasn’t like him. Clark caught Jackson watching him absent-mindedly, not appearing to pay attention the conversation going on around him. Jamie was enthusiastically agreeing with Kyle’s comment as Danny let out a light chuckle.

Jackson hurriedly averted his gaze when he realised Clark was looking at him, taking a sudden interest in a nearby flyer about the winter formal. That thing was almost a month away. It was the least of Clark’s worries.

“Did I hear someone say party?” Lydia joined the conversation, seemingly appearing out of nowhere. It was almost like she heard the word ‘party’ and dropped everything. Jackson appeared to visibly relax upon Lydia’s arrival. He wasted no time in pulling her close to him and greeting her with a kiss.

Disappointment instantly soared over Clark as he felt his heart sink. It was his turn to inspect the floor, feeling stupid as he glared at the scuffed off-white vinyl tiles that lined the corridor. Wednesday night had been _nothing._ He’d read too far into it. Dared for something good to come out of his move to Beacon Hills because his life was completely falling apart in the twelve days since his return.

The sense of eyes boring into him was the feeling which eventually got Clark to look back up. Jackson and Lydia had separated, somewhat at least. They were stood side by side and Jackson had his arm wrapped around her waist. The eyes boring into him had been Jackson’s and there was a thunderous look plastered over his face clearly intended to silence him. That’s when it hit him; Jackson had left over an hour early for school on Thursday morning to avoid him.

“I do know of one guy who _is_ hosting a party tonight,” Kyle told them as Clark’s attention was drawn back to the conversation happening around them. Jackson’s gaze had finally left him and moved to Kyle to focus on the conversation himself. “But it’s a definite no-go.”

“How’s a party a no-go?” Clark forced himself to join in with the conversation and ignore the millions of thoughts and feelings soaring through him at the moment. _Distractions._ He reminded himself.

“It’s a birthday party,” Kyle explained further, earning himself blank looks from the three boys and Lydia. “ _Hunter Lopez’s_ birthday party.” The clarification earned Kyle mumbles of agreement from everyone except Clark who still had the same confused expression.

Clark was lost, “Who’s Hunter Lopez?”

Jamie gaped at him. Totally unhelpful.

“He’s the quarterback of the school’s football team,” Lydia started filling him in. She seemed to know everything about everyone. “He transferred here right at the start of the school year because of his parent’s jobs. He’s good, from what I’ve heard. But, as you know, Beacon County is one of the few places that doesn’t go totally crazy over football.”

“The guy’s an asshole,” Jamie took over. “He got on the football team easy ‘cause no one cares about that. He starts acting like he runs the school just ‘cause he made quarterback. Oh, his face when he found out football wasn’t the thing around here…” Jamie laughed at the memory whilst Jackson scoffed as he thought back. “Mate, you should have seen it,” Jamie told Clark in between laughs.

“Everyone knows Jackson is the one around here,” Lydia stated matter--of-factly.

“Hunter’s desperate to change things though,” Kyle added.

“Yeah, the guy’s built up his own little army,” Jamie said with a laugh. Everyone else looked amused as well, as far as Clark could tell. Even with a so-called ‘army’, they didn’t seem fazed by Hunter. “Turned all the players on the football team against the players on our team. He’s constantly trying to pick fights with some of the guys on the team.”

“Basically, Hunter is a tool,” Kyle concluded. “And we’re _not_ going to any party he throws. Let alone his _birthday_ party.”

* * *

When he used to attend high school in New York, Clark would spend his free periods socialising and having fun with friends. Ever since transferring to Beacon Hills and his life being plunged into chaos, Clark had to resort to spending his free periods in the library, failing to catch up on mountains of work.

He stared at the chemistry book open on the table in front of him as if it were written in a different language. He never thought he could hate a subject as much as he hated Math but Harris’ monotone teaching had put Chemistry right up there with Math. It was also obvious that he was under the suspicious watch of the librarian which was not helping his concentration.

“Is it bad that I’m actually quite enjoying seeing you completely stumped by something?”

He recognised the amused voice but it was definitely not one he had expected to hear in the middle of the library during one of his free periods. His frown deepened further as Clark looked up at Mr Kenneth. Didn’t he have papers to mark if he wasn’t teaching a class?

The young teacher stuck his hands into his trouser pockets. “It’s actually refreshing to see you not know an answer,” Kenneth admitted casually. The spurt of information that Clark had demonstrated during their first history lesson together had not been a fluke. The teenager was a budding historian in the making and it had only drawn Kenneth more to the new student.

“It’s actually a common sight outside a history classroom,” Clark informed him with a shrug as he absent-mindedly twirled the pen in his hand.

“Now I know that isn’t true,” Mr Kenneth countered immediately. “Ms Morrell tells me you’re well acquainted with the French language.”

“I know the basics,” Clark responded modestly as he eyed the teacher carefully. The historian was giving off no clues as to his motive for randomly striking up a conversation with him in the middle of the library. Despite his efforts, Kenneth was unreadable and that unnerved Clark.

“You know,” Kenneth continued, taking the seat across from Clark and getting himself comfortable. His casual actions almost made it seem like they were two people catching up over coffee in a café. It was very strange. “I’ve had a few interesting conversations with Ms Morrell about you, Clark.”

“It’s great to know you’re talking about me when I’m not there,” Clark commented sarcastically, his eyes awkwardly dropping to his open chemistry book. Suddenly its contents seemed a lot more inviting.

“She told me you only went for one session with her,” Kenneth informed him and Clark looked back up when his teacher had continued to speak. “Given more recent events, perhaps it’s worth giving her another shot?”

“I’m fine,” Clark insisted. His ‘use school as a distraction’ technique wasn’t really working when it was all people kept talking to him about.

Kenneth let out a light sigh, clearly not convinced. “I get it, Clark. You want to push it out of your mind, run from it and act like nothing’s happened. Because it’s easier that way. Because you don’t have to face the truth and drown in a wave of grief, guilt and ‘what-ifs’.” Kenneth spoke with a slight frown on his face; his dark brown eyes were distant, looking up to his left.

There was a pause during which Clark didn’t know how to respond so he stayed quiet, studying the man in front of him. The smallest flicker of remorse crossed the teacher’s typically unreadable expression before his eyes met Clark’s. There was something about the man’s eyes which drew Clark in. The man in front of him was young and still retained many youthful facial features and his trademark boyish smile which made many of the girls in Clark’s history class melt instantaneously.

But there was something about his eyes which didn’t match his youthful appearance.

They were heavy with a general tiredness which created a stark contrast to his smiley, lively teaching methods which grasped the attention of the majority of the class. Though Clark was fairly sure the guy’s appearance alone contributed a lot to that. Mr Kenneth was hard to read but from his eyes, Clark felt he was burdened by something.

“But that’s a short-term solution,” Kenneth suddenly continued to talk, pulling Clark out of his thoughts. “If you let it all build up inside you, you’re eventually going to explode. Trust me, Clark. Talking helps. It might not seem like it right now but it does.” And then Kenneth smiled. It wasn’t his trademark boyish smile but it felt more genuine. It was small and pained but Clark felt it.

“I don’t know…” Clark trailed off hesitantly. The new side to his history teacher had confused him and he was struggling to think properly.

Kenneth placed his hands on the table in front of him and pushed himself up to a standing position. “There’s no rush. Take your time. Think on it. But I do hope you take my advice,” Kenneth told him before he turned and walked away, heading for the door which led out of the library.

Clark stared after him completely perplexed by his own observations throughout the conversation. He had no time to try and figure anything out for a loud bang to his side made him jump. Startled, his head spun around and he relaxed when he saw Jamie. The economics textbook that had appeared on the table was clearly the source of the loud noise. Jamie received glares from both Clark and the librarian for his actions.

Jamie took a seat next to Clark. “What was that about?” He questioned with a short nod in the direction of the door. He had obviously seen Mr Kenneth leaving as he’d approached.

“Just history stuff,” Clark shrugged, pulling his chemistry textbook closer as he tried to return his focus to the notes he’d been attempting to make.

Jamie stared at him with a dubious look. Clark tried to ignore it and focus on his notes but it was off-putting and unnerving. He sighed, dropped the pen onto his notepad and turned to Jamie defeatedly. “Alright!” Clark caved easily. He really needed to work on that. “He was just checking on my well-being; trying to convince me to take up Ms Morrell’s counselling sessions again.”

“That guy is officially creepy,” Jamie stated.

Clark let out a laugh. “Right, _sure_ ,” he responded sarcastically with an amused shake of his head.

“I’m serious, mate,” Jamie insisted. His usual enthusiastic tone was non-existent and there was a look of concern on his face. “That guy is way too invested in you.”

Clark couldn’t take him seriously, “Do you ever stop spouting nonsense?”

“Clark. He was the one who first convinced you to see a counsellor. You told me he was waiting outside to check on how your first session went. He’s checking up on you now and trying to convince you to go again,” Jamie defended his argument.

“That’s part of his job. Teachers don’t just teach,” Clark countered.

“But he actively tracked you down today, Clark! That’s _weird_ ,” Jamie wasn’t planning on backing down any time soon. He didn’t trust Mr Kenneth at all. “I haven’t even mentioned the fact that he would let you get away with murder!”

Clark sighed, tiredly rubbing his temple as he reluctantly asked, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Our first history lesson after the winter break - _your_ first history lesson with him,” Jamie continued with determination. “You were a total smart-ass, you disrupted the class and you showed him up. You got away with it completely. The next day, you ran out of the class, disrupting it for a second time and you got away with it. And this Monday! It was evident you left Allison to do all the work on your history project and you got away with it!”

“You’re reading far too much into this,” Clark replied dismissively. He also made a mental note to ensure he never told Jamie that Mr Kenneth had been the one who had convinced him to return to the game and support the team on Wednesday night. Jamie and his crazy wild theories would have a field day with that one!

“I don’t trust him, Clark. It’s like he’s fixated on you,” Jamie maintained, his voice low and hushed like he was afraid Kenneth was going to turn up out of nowhere and hear him. “What if he’s a murderer? You might be a target he’s stalking.”

Clark stared at him in utter disbelief, almost rendered speechless. “Man, you watch far too much TV.”

Jamie opened his mouth, intending to argue but his light blue eyes darkened as he looked past Clark and he clamped his jaw shut. Clark glanced over his shoulder, intrigued to see who had received such a reaction from Jamie. Stood behind him, shifting his weight awkwardly from foot to foot was Jake; his dirty blonde hair falling over his forehead.

Despite only knowing Jamie for twelve days, the two boys had become pretty close quite quickly. Clark put it down to the fact that he was willing to put up with more from Jamie than the rest of the guys though he was slowly growing less patient. Regardless, Clark had observed that Jamie had become somewhat protective and wasn’t surprised by the cold greeting he was giving the boy who had taken his place on the lacrosse team.

“Err… hi,” Jake greeted awkwardly with a half-hearted wave before using his hand to push his hair off his forehead and into its usual messy quiff. Clark followed Jake’s eyes to the copy of _Jekyll and Hyde_ that Clark had out on the table. The first half of Clark’s free period had been especially productive - it was funny what he could get done without all the interruptions. He’d managed to complete the English essay assignment on said book with his time. Yet to order his own copy, Clark had resorted to borrowing the library’s one to complete the assignment. Jake pointed to the book. “Is that the library’s copy? I don’t suppose you’re finished with it? I kind of lost mine and need to get that assignment done.”

Clark glanced at the book which rested on top of his completed English assignment. Jake didn’t have to know that he’d finished it though. “Actually, I’m still using it. Maybe you should try again tomorrow,” he lied. It may have been petty and awkward but Clark didn’t care. He was still pissed off that the guy had taken his place on the team. Jake sighed in defeat but didn’t argue, trudging away without another word.

Clark shifted back round in his seat to find Jamie smirking at him, holding up Clark’s completed _Jekyll and Hyde_ assignment in his hand. “Still using it?” Jamie chuckled. Luckily for Clark, Jamie was the type of person who got distracted really easily. Jake’s interruption had made him completely forget about his Kenneth suspicions.

Clark shrugged innocently, “Teacher’s are always going on about proof-reading.”

His assignment was dismissively thrown back down onto the table as Jamie glanced in Jake’s direction. The retreating boy had decided to tackle one of his other pieces of work instead at a table on the other side of the library. “So what’s your plan?” Jamie asked.

“Plan?”

“Yeah. To get your spot on first line back from Miller,” Jamie expanded whilst doing his best attempt at a discreet nod in Jake’s direction. “You must have a plan.”

“Not really,” Clark responded. It was a lie. He knew exactly how he was going to get his spot back from Jake but he couldn’t be doing with all Jamie’s questions. All he had to do was prove to Coach that he _could_ do everything that Scott could do in some subtle way that wouldn’t attract him the scrutiny that Scott was under from Jackson. Easier said than done. “But I _am_ getting back on that team.”

* * *

Math had never been Clark’s forte. Since transferring to Beacon Hills High School and landing himself a teacher with the most monotone of monotone voices ever who tended to drone on and on, things had taken a turn for the worse. If Clark thought his Math grades were bad before, he was not looking forward to seeing how things went.

His teacher fuelled no enthusiasm in Clark toward the subject and the only way he could make it through the lessons was by taking a bathroom break halfway through. His teacher had yet to clock on to his pattern. It was definitely saying something when Clark would look forward to spending a few minutes in the dingy, stinking boys’ toilets just to get out of Math for a bit.

Clark spent his mid-Math break leaning against the wall and checking through his phone. He had to be careful though because he had a habit of getting too drawn in and losing track of time.

“Still hate Math? Nothing changes there then.”

Clark looked up in surprise when he heard Cora’s voice, pocketing his phone immediately when he confirmed it was her. He had convinced himself that Jamie’s theory was crazy and that Ms Morrell’s had made sense. He assumed he hadn’t heard from Cora because he’d moved past the overwhelming sensation of returning to the place his family had died. He frowned; was Cora’s presence a result of him trying to process Laura’s death or was Jamie right?

“You’re back!” He commented in surprise.

Cora nodded, “Yep.”

“So how does this work for you? Where have you been the last few days? Does the time pass instantaneously for you or do you… go somewhere?” Clark suddenly had a rush of questions flood into his brain and he bombarded her with them.

“Time’s weird,” Cora admitted slowly and she appeared to be contemplating how much to tell him. “There’s nothing in between these conversations with you. It’s just… _darkness._ ”

“Do you see anyone else?” Clark asked, willing to investigate Jamie’s theory. If she was a ghost, there was a chance she could see and talk to other ghosts. Like Laura.

Cora shot him a look. The same one she used to give him when he stumbled over math problems as a child. The one that said _‘you should know the answer’._ When Clark didn’t realise his mistake Cora answered, “ _Darkness_ , Clark.”

“Right,” Clark chuckled sheepishly as he rubbed the back of his neck. _Of course._ “Well, do you _hear_ anyone?” He rephrased.

Cora pursed her lips. She was thinking about it. Clark wasn’t sure why; it was a simple yes or no question. “Not exactly. There’s nothing. But sometimes I get these snippets of conversations that you’re having. I can’t see you but I can hear you. And sometimes I really want to intervene - like when you and Derek were arguing but I can’t. There’s this barrier, holding me back.”

Clark gaped at her, “That sounds horrible.”

“It’s definitely not fun. It’s like when you’re little and watching all the older kids having fun but they say your too little to join in,” Cora explained. Clark knew exactly what she meant. With six years between them and Derek, and an eight year gap with Laura, they’d often been left to watch as their older siblings got to do fun and exciting things. Cora sighed, “I miss having fun.”

“Trust me. There’s been very little fun around here recently,” Clark retorted bitterly.

“Then do something about it! Throw a party! They’re fun!” Cora encouraged with a wide grin, her brown eyes lighting up at the idea.

Clark shook his head, “I’m really not in the partying mood, Cora.”

“Hmmph. You always were boring,” Cora folded her arms with emphasis, her tone and actions both striking Clark as extremely childish.

“Laura _died,_ Cora. I’m not going to throw a party,” Clark growled in frustration.

Cora wasn’t fazed by the irritation in his tone. She met his eyes; strong, confident and determined, “You wanted a distraction.”

“It’s not _right_ , Cora,” Clark sighed. As much as he wanted to distract himself and give off the impression that he was _fine_ , he couldn’t throw a party so soon after finding out about her death. “She was torn in half. She was murdered. And Derek just tossed what he could find of her in some makeshift grave. She didn’t deserve any of that. She deserves a proper funeral. She certainly doesn’t deserve me acting like nothing happened and having a party.”

“I didn’t get a proper funeral,” Cora challenged. “Neither did anyone else who died with me.”

A wave of guilt flooded over Clark. Cora was right. They hadn’t been able to risk proper funerals; to draw attention to themselves as much as it would have done. The official report may suggest it was an accident, some faulty electrics, but Laura and Derek had always been convinced it was hunters.

“You didn’t deserve that either,” Clark choked out. “None of you did.”

There was a silence during which the twins held each other’s stares. No words were spoken but the stares were soft and sympathetic of the events the other had to go through.

“Do you know what a funeral is, Clark?” Cora broke the silence after a minute, speaking softly.

Clark stifled a laugh. It didn’t seem appropriate given the topic, “I’m not that stupid.” When Cora continued to stare at him, expecting an answer, Clark expanded, “It’s a service which gives someone their final resting place.”

“That’s one way to look at it,” Cora confirmed with a nod. “I prefer to look at it as a celebration of someone’s life.” She paused, a smile appearing on her face before she instructed, “Throw a party. Celebrate Laura’s life. Have _fun._ She wouldn’t want you moping around.”

* * *

Clark’s food tray hit the table with a purposeful thump. It did its job, gaining him the attention of the five people sat at it. Lydia had been shoving her phone into Allison’s face, showing her the latest pictures she had taken of her dog, Prada. Danny, Jamie and Kyle had been enthusiastically talking about their win two days ago. With Jackson not around - Clark hadn’t seen him since that morning - they hadn’t been worried about Jackson starting one of his rants about Scott.

All five eyes were on him, their previous conversations disregarded. Clark took a seat, a mischievous smile on his face. “You guys really don’t like this Hunter guy? I know the perfect way to piss him off,” Clark stated. Kyle straightened, immediately convinced and intrigued to know Clark’s plan. Jamie shared Clark’s grin and Lydia tilted her head inquisitively. Danny and Allison did not look so convinced, sharing mutual doubtful looks.

“Are you planning on telling us or do we have to guess?” Kyle’s response was sarcastic and impatient.

“We throw a party to rival his and make it the best one ever!” Clark grinned. It was petty (again) especially since he didn’t even know the guy. But Cora had convinced him to throw a party and he was going for it. All or nothing.

“You want to throw ‘ _the best party ever’_ with about five hours to plan and prepare?” Lydia remarked incredulously, using air quotes and making it sound impossible with ease.

Growing up with Jackson as his best friend, Clark knew exactly how to play to people’s egos in order to manipulate them, “If anyone can do it, Lydia, you can.”

Lydia beamed at the praise. Just like that, she was on board.

“Where are you having this party?” Allison asked and Clark noted the purposeful use of the word ‘you’ instead of ‘we’.

“Scott’s house. His mom’s on a double shift at the hospital tonight,” Clark answered, leaving out the fact that Scott would also be working late at the veterinary practice. As far as he’d planned, by the time Scott knew what was going on, the party would be in full swing. “One rule. Don’t tell Scott. I want it to be a surprise party to congratulate him on making first line,” Clark bluffed, looking in particular at Allison. Out of everyone, she would be the one most likely to tell him and then the entire party would most likely be halted. He couldn’t see Scott agreeing to host a party.

“So we’re hosting a house party without the host?” Kyle summarised.

Clark shrugged, “I live there.” He received surprised looks from all five of them. He’d momentarily forgotten he hadn’t mentioned his new living situation to them. “I’ll explain later. Right now, we have a party to plan.”


End file.
